Splendor
by missjewels
Summary: Oshima Yuzuki's small town is as far removed from the unpleasant events of the shinobi world as any place could possibly be. But her own stifled life is about to explode beneath her feet when, by fate, Yuzuki is pulled into the the orbit of one of the world's most powerful men: Uchiha Madara. MadaraOC.
1. Prologue

Splendor

Prologue

_Shadows of the Forgotten Ancestor_

* * *

_It is an old story. _

_But one that can still be told. About an extraordinary man and his legacy that stretches out from the mists of pre-history. It is a story that is at once both accessible and hidden, mysterious and manifest. It permeates the lives of every living creature as invisibly and naturally as the air they breathe, and as the ground they stand upon._

_It is a story of a man, who, through the power of human spontaneity, ingenuity and warmth, was able to fashion himself into a living god; he is known as the Sage of the Six Paths. His appearance on the world stage heralded the arrival of a new dawn in the age of mankind – and womankind. For the Sage desired peace and prosperity for all. _

_It is said that this man had two sons: one of Yin, one of Yang, one endowed with his father's mental energy and imagination, the other with his physical strength and stamina. And on his deathbed, his mission not yet complete, the Sage chose his younger son, the child of Yang, to succeed him as his heir. His decision would cause a split that would resonate down through the ages, right into modern times, for his eldest, the child of Yin, believed that he was the true heir, and so he fought his own blood kin, his own beloved brother, for what he believed was the right to rule._

_All of this, it has been told._

_But what is never told is the story of another child, a third child, the youngest of the three offspring of the Sage, and begot of an incredible woman whose name and accomplishments, like her youngest child's, would be lost to future generations._

_This child was the Sage's only daughter. Her story was the first to be forgotten, her presence erased from collective memories and myths, her importance first downgraded then altogether discarded. But she lingers in the unconscious, her powers still intact, her legacy unbroken despite civilization's refusal to acknowledge her. Her spirit still stirs in the blood of her descendants to this day, unrecorded._

_And whether anyone realizes it or not, we all live in the shadows of this forgotten ancestor._


	2. Chapter 1: Tucked Away In A Corner

**Author's Note: This is my first ever story, but don't let that put you off! I've been reading fanfiction for a long time and have decided to finally try my hand at it. I've created a story of my own, one that has been floating around my head for a long time: MadaraOC. Madara seems like a really epic villain to me, and we hear more about him than we actually see, so he takes on this sort of pseudo-mythic quality. It makes him all mysterious, leaving much to the imagination. **

**My beloved OC is called Oshima "Yu-chan" Yuzuki, and I vow to make her as engaging a heroine as possible. In this first chapter I am introducing the reader to Yuzuki's normal world, so it may lag a little. Most of the story will be told from her POV but it won't be exclusively. Any constructive comments/criticisms are appreciated: if you like the story tell me why you like it, if you don't like the story tell me why you don't like it. Feedback is awesome.**

**On with the show. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Splendor**

**Chapter 1**

**Tucked Away In A Corner**

* * *

If there was one thing Yuzuki hated, it was being kept waiting. And that was precisely what her friend, Katsuhiro, was making her do.

Yuzuki had been alternating between sitting and standing at the side of the dirt road for nearly a full hour now, restlessly shifting from one foot to another, and attempting to distract herself from her annoyance and worry, but it wasn't working; all Yuzuki could think of was what could have possibly had happened to Hiro-kun to have made him so late. Normally, she would have not troubled her mind with such things, but there had been, for the first time in a long time, heavy fighting near their little village of Izumo. The area that lay directly east of Izumo was supposedly swarming with shinobi for reasons she did not quite understand.

When the news first broke about the fighting, it was reported as several small skirmishes, nothing to worry about, nothing to be interested in; but the lax attitude with which the townspeople had received the news soon changed as details began to pour in. The information was garbled and uncertain, but the general picture that was painted was that these "skirmishes" were quickly escalating into a full-out battle, with at least two important shinobi clans involved. Some folks whispered it was the Yuki clan and the Fukudas' that were currently engaging each other, while others insisted that it was the Mizutani and the Yamanaka. So far apart were these clans in looks, abilities and style, that these inconsistencies in identity served to only highlight the uncertainty of the whole situation, and it caused many villagers to doubt the legitimacy of the information they were receiving from the self-proclaimed "eye-witnesses." How reliable could these reports be if the ones telling them couldn't correctly name the parties involved? Now, everyone in Izumo was in a state of high alert.

Yuzuki had never seen a shinobi battle before. Most people in Izumo had not. It was an unassuming place, and eventful things such as battles had not taken place in the town's recent history, and only the elderly could remember such awful times. The young of Izumo had grown up sitting on the laps of their elders' and listening to their stories of hard times they had never been witness to. Izumo was a peaceful place, and rather removed from all the fighting that seemed to take place everywhere else in the world. A small place, tucked away in a corner. Well, until now it seems.

Had something happened to Hiro-kun? Something bad? The fighting was in the east supposedly, closer to Katsuhiro's neighboring village of Suriya, than to her's.

Yuzuki sighed and stood up from her seat on the grass, and brushed away the dirt that stuck to her skirt. If anyone had been looking, they would have seen in the fading light of the setting sun, a girl of almost sixteen, petite in shape and in height. Her body was smaller than most girls her age; this and her rather pale skin lent her a look of feminine, almost childish, delicacy.

At fifteen, Oshima Yuzuki was many things, but no one could ever claim that she was delicate. She was not a beauty by anyone's standard. She was noticeable, that is, if a person bothered to notice her at all, more by reason of her restless vitality and an outspoken personality, than by physical beauty.

This was unfortunate, for the society in which Yuzuki lived put such low value on all things female; and they regarded spontaneity and willfulness as unnatural in a girl. A woman, especially a young unmarried one, had to appear, above all, sweet, self-effacing, ornamental and soft-spoken. It was to this end that all who had a hand in Yuzuki's upbringing over the years had bent their efforts towards, in hopes to impress upon her all the qualities necessary to be attractive to men, and thus secure a future for her as a good wife and wise mother.

As Yuzuki stood there, mouth pulled down in an almost-pout, mulling over possible scenarios in her head as to what had become of her friend, she looked about her. It was an unusually warm April evening and there was still present the musky smell of the rain that had fallen earlier in the afternoon. It clung to the dirt on the road, and on the blooming dogwoods and the apple trees laden with unripe fruit that lined the road on the side of which she was standing.

Normally Yuzuki would have stopped, and taken in the damp balminess of the newly arrived spring and all the miracles of budding life, for Yuzuki had a natural affinity with nature; but now her mind was filled with half-irritated worry, and she had no time for such preoccupations.

Suddenly, her eyes were caught by movement down to her right - it was Katsuhiro coming up the road.

"Finally!" exclaimed Yuzuki aloud. Without waiting for Hiro to progress further towards her, she bounded down the path on slender, speedy legs, her braided chocolate-brown hair flying behind her. Yuzuki was fast for her size, and closed in on Katsuhiro in no time, stopping abruptly a few paces in front of him. Katsuhiro had continued his leisurely pace, clearly unbothered by his friend's seeming urgency. She grinned at him and he sent back an answering smile.

"What took you so long? You left me waiting here forever," said Yuzuki a little breathlessly. She fell into step beside Katsuhiro, and looked at him for answer. "Well, 'hello' to you too," he replied mildly, skimming over her question. Then, catching the annoyed look she sent him, he explained: "With all the fighting that's been going on, I had to take a longer route to Izumo."

"Are there really shinobi battles happening near Suriya like they say?"

"Oh, yes," he responded.

Yuzuki took time to digest this piece of information, which was given with no detail, and studied her friend. There wasn't anything so unique about him. He was a wiry boy, lean in build, somewhat tall in height, black-haired, with a broad friendly face, and brown eyes that shone with kindly merriment. A trustworthy, but plain face.

Yuzuki had trusted him and liked him ever since five and a-half years ago when they had first met at a summer festival in honor of the guardian deity, one that was particular to Suriya. Yuzuki's family had visited Suriya by invitation of a family friend. The villages were so close together they were almost one, and the trip was made in no time. Suriya was smaller than Izumo; its whole population couldn't have totaled more than four thousand people. And it seemed that all of four thousand people were present at the celebration that year.

Ever since she had been a toddler, Yuzuki had a habit of running away and escaping her chaperones. Dictated by her independent nature, she thoroughly enjoyed solitary exploration where she needn't have her hand held at all times, yanking her this way and that, and dragging her from the things she found interesting.

Her family (which included herself, her younger sister and brother, and her mother) had entered the village and had made their way to the center of town were everything was a hive of activity, when Yuzuki managed to somehow escape her hawk-eyed mother's vigilance, and bolt into the chattering, bent on some destination yet unknown. She wanted to be somewhere where she could wander freely.

As good fortune would have it, her footsteps were directed to the path that took her to her encounter with Katsuhiro. His father and mother were running one of the numerous stalls lining the streets, and their son, who had become thoroughly bored of the whole thing, had slipped easily from his parents presence.

And then they had run into each other, almost literally, and quite by accident. Well, the running was more done on Yuzuki's part than Katsuhiro's – he'd simply been lounging on a relatively uninhabited patch of grass, that was apart from the main thoroughfare, admiring the festivities, and deep in his own thoughts when Yuzuki had nearly tripped over him.

She had caught sight of his laid back form on the grass at the last possible second, and her mind commanded an immediate response in effort to avoid the obstacle in front of her. Yuzuki felt the ground disappear from under her feet as she leapt high into the air, and over the lounging boy whose startled eyes followed her soaring movements with wide-eyed amazement, his mouth a perfect 'o.' He had never seen a kid jump as high or smoothly. And when she had landed in a crouch as skillfully as any cat, the flying girl actually turned and began upbraiding him for the inconvenience of his position - inconvenient in her opinion at least.

Katsuhiro stared in stunned silence at the girl whose tangled dark hair hung freely about her shoulders and whose large amber eyes were snapping with annoyance as she continued to scold him. Hoping to shut her up, he set about soothing the strange girl with what he hoped sounded like an honest apology. And as her temper cooled, he succeeded in engaging her in a normal conversation.

That was how their friendship formed. Their parents, by chance already acquainted, had given them plenty of excuses to see each other often and their bond strengthened in the years that followed, with one often calling on the others home.

Yes, thought Yuzuki, as the two strode their way towards her house forgetting the topic of shinobi entirely. It was good to have a friend like Hiro-kun.

* * *

Yuzuki's house was built in traditional style, these aspects clearly visible in its erect wood frames supported by vertical columns, and horizontal beams, underneath a large sloping tiled roof, with deep eaves to protect against the elements, and it's hallways built on the outside, so that the garden that surrounded their small home could be admired from the comfort of indoors.

By the time the two had arrived, the western sky was blazing streaks of orange, red and purple, blending into dark blue as it stretched eastward, and the chill of night had begun to settle around them, so they hastened their step.

No sooner had Yuzuki entered the house, Katsuhiro behind her, and had taken off her shoes and called the perfunctory greeting, "I'm home!" then the padding of scurrying feet sounded on the wooden floor and her younger sister Kaeko appeared.

"Welcome home, Yu-chan, Hiro-kun," she nodded in greeting, her blue eyes wide. Everyone in the immediate family, except Yuzuki, had blue eyes.

"Hey," answered Yuzuki, absently. "Is Okaa-san making dinner?"

"Yes. She's almost finished."

"Oh, good." Yuzuki paused as she stepped into the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen, and started down it, Katsuhiro right behind her. "What is she making?"

Kaeko was walking backwards in front of her so she could address them face to face. "She is making Sukiyaki," her sister answered nervously, her eyes on the male beside her. Yuzuki smiled at her sister's obvious flustering. Her younger sister had nursed a silly crush on Katsuhiro for years. Kaeko, who, for the most part, was a simple and empty-headed child of eleven, tall and a little gangly, had always done her best to appear as graceful as possible when in his company. Katsuhiro knew of her feelings because they were so obvious, but also because it amused Yuzuki to tease him about it. Her sister's crush on her friend was both irritating and endearing in equal turns.

The three entered the kitchen, and were greeted by the savory odors of freshly cooked food. Yuzuki's thirty-five year old mother was standing at the the sink, busily preparing their meal. She turned to greet the arrivals, particularly Katsuhiro for he was her house guest. She addressed him as Hiro-kun, as everyone in her family did, and he in turn gave her a polite bow.

Oshima Haruka was a slender woman and taller than average, blue of eyes, dark of hair, straight-nosed, and of a regular pink complexion, a noticeably different tone of color than her eldest daughter's ivory skin. Which was slightly odd, because Haruka spent far less time wandering about outdoors than Yuzuki.

Haruka had been somewhat a romantic girl, though marriage and motherhood eventually stomped out those qualities, and replaced them with the traits of responsibility and industry that so accurately described her now. Haruka had always been a hard worker and this was utilized under her new life as a married woman. She was fortunate enough to have a kindly husband by her side who disregarded the traditional attitude of masculine reserve to help out when he could. But even though this was so, the normal set-up of man and wife remained.

Now that her husband was gone, leaving her widowed with three children, Haruka operated more thoroughly and attentively than ever her affairs of housewifery and keeping shop with the help of her in-laws.

Yuzuki sat herself down carelessly upon the _zabuton _in front of the low table_, _her right leg crossed loosely over her left, and leaned back lazily on her hands. Haruka, who was on constant look-out for breaks in her daughter's propriety, sent her a reproving look, which Yuzuki pretended not to notice.

By the time dinner was prepared, everyone in the household had gathered at the table, including Yuzuki's younger brother Shigeru, who emerged from the darkness of his room and joined the lively conversation that had struck up between the two teenagers. Kaeko was too self-conscious to join in.

"Ne, Hiro-kun, what do you know of the battles that are happening around here? Are they really 'battles' or what? Who's involved? Where -"

"Slow down," said Katsuhiro, interrupting Yuzuki's flow of questions. "I don't really know a lot myself, but I can tell you this: they are taking place more towards the south-east and are actually some miles away. As for who's involved, I can't really say. It can't be anyone important, or else we would know who they were already. I don't think it's something to worry over."

"But -" began Yuzuki, but she was interrupted by her mother who was sitting diagonally from her, putting her hands together saying in a voice that left no room for another's, "Itadakimasu." This was everyone's cue to follow her example, and they all responded with a hasty thanks for their meal.

"But you can't really be sure, can you?" Yuzuki resumed. "I mean, remember years ago when half the village was destroyed because of that great wind caused by that ninja's 'jutsu,' or whatever they call it?" Yuzuki was referring to an incident in Izumo's history that had occurred years before her birth or her parent's birth, and had since passed into legend. It was one of those stories that every child in Izumo was aware of but that did not interest them enough to find out the details, so long ago did it happen.

"I'm sure this is nothing like that," shrugged Katsuhiro, feeding himself some pickled vegetables.

"How would you know?"

"I don't," he admitted.

"Right," Yuzuki almost smirked, feeling as if she had won out in some argument they hadn't even started. Katsuhiro however, spoiled her gloating victory, with a conceding half shrug that bespoke of his typical mild manners. He did not like to argue and he avoided it at all cost.

He was a considerate and sympathetic person, and these traits made him a good listener and advisor. But unlike Yuzuki, his blood was rarely stirred by passionate feeling and his mind never raced on compelled by some grand idea or thought that needed further analysis. He was not troubled as much by abstractions as his friend was, even though he was intelligent enough to grasp them.

Shigeru piped up in time. "Wouldn't it be cool to be a shinobi?" he asked giddily.

"And spend all your time fighting wars in the dirt and the mud?" Yuzuki scoffed, one eyebrow raised incredulously. "No, thank you! I think I'll pass."

Shigeru deflated. "It'd actually be really cool," he objected, wounded that his comments had been shot down so quickly. "You get to kill all the bad guys and be a hero and -"

You are such a kid," interjected Yuzuki, nibbling on some tofu. Of course, her know-nothing younger brother would think it was cool to be a shinobi. He had not heard the stories and he hadn't the maturity to appreciate them. "Shinobi clans only fight for their ownselves and for people despicable enough to hire them. They're the reason the world is such a mess right now. They're not heroes, they're brutes."

Haruka set down her bowl and spoke for the first time since the meal had commenced. "Enough," she said quietly but firmly. "Hiro-kun is right. It is nothing to be concerned about. We are not seeing - or hearing - anything that should be a cause for panic resulting from these supposed 'battles,' so they really can't be all that bad. Let's just leave the subject alone and talk about something more pleasant."

Yuzuki's mouth twisted down, and she jabbed lightly at her food with her chopsticks, but she did not say anything. This was commonly how her mother would put an end to conversations she deemed inappropriate, and it never failed to annoy her.

Her mother hadn't seemed so strict when she was younger. The change had come after her father's passing. The period immediately after his death, a terrible cloud of mourning had hung over their little house. Under this cloud, her mother grew despondent and vague, like she was not even present, but trapped in some horrible dream, a dream so terrifyingly real as to be unreal. And nowadays, when Yuzuki recalled this period, it was only with scant recollection. It was feelings, mostly, that she remembered.

It had been a confusing thing for a six-year-old Yuzuki to witness. The words "loss" and "death" were mere abstractions to her young brain, their meanings too complex to grasp. But as time moved on, and the period of absence grew, Yuzuki finally came to the realization that her father was never coming back, and that death meant something permanent, something which no person, no matter how good or strong, returned from. Confusion gave way to an adult type of grief, too much for a six-year-old to handle alone, and Yuzuki found that she needed her mother more than ever.

She ached for the calming embrace and soothing assurances that only a mother could give; but her mother was not there for her, or rather could not be there. Having come out of her stupor, Haruka found she had little time to comfort her eldest daughter, so kept on her feet was she with the accounts and caring for her younger daughter and son, ages two and five months, respectively.

Because of this, Yuzuki and Haruka had very little chance for interaction, but when they did, Yuzuki perceived a new sharpness in the way her mother addressed her. It was most prominent for the first two years after father's sudden departure, before tapering off somewhat as the family adjusted to the new rhythm they had been forced to find. But even so, the sharpness remained, blunted a little by the maternal tenderness which Haruka still possessed abundantly, and still showered her children with.

But from that time onwards, she had drifted in to the habit of adjuring her somewhat unruly daughter to "be more of a lady," for she wanted to secure for her daughter a steady future that her own widowed state prevented her from having completely. That meant finding a good man to marry, and that meant having to impart all the manners for finding such a man, and the manners that would help Yuzuki get on in society and be well-liked.

In stark contrast to her two more docile and even-tempered children, her eldest had a wildly independent streak. But Haruka was not too worried at this point; there was still time to correct or at least conceal her daughter's damaging qualities before she made a match. She was not even sixteen yet, and was still growing.

There was time yet to obliterate that healthy vigor - a quality, which in females, was so frowned upon to possess.

* * *

After Haruka's objection to the content of discussion, the table lapsed into silence for a while, and the rest of the meal passed uneventfully, with her mother questioning Katsuhiro on the state of shared acquaintances and on the current happenings in Suriya. Their voices had become like a dull buzz in Yuzuki's ears, and she hadn't paid much attention to anything that was said.

Katsuhiro left for his uncle's soon after the meal concluded, having made arrangements to stay with him beforehand, and her mother went about washing the dishes, while her siblings did whatever it was that amused them in the later hours of the evening.

It was ten o'clock now. The sun had disappeared hours ago and a clear darkness was left in its wake. Yuzuki was in her bedroom, having made all the preparations for bed. She was in her sleeping attire now, a simple cotton shirt, buttoned up the front and a pair of loose pants thrown on with little thought, and as she leaned her elbows on the window of her bedroom, she sighed, letting the cool breeze ghost over her skin as her mind went back to the comment she had made earlier at the dinner table about shinobi. She had meant what she said.

Yuzuki did not know any shinobi and did not know about them, but she felt she didn't need to. Yuzuki knew this tiny piece of the world was not the norm of the universe. It would have been easy to accept it as such, for she had lived in Izumo all her life. Her travels had consisted of trips to various relatives and cousins scattered about in other villages; the closest thing to a city she had ever seen had been Yuzawa, a moderately important trade town, and a designated site for hot-spring lovers, and home to her beloved cousin, Akira.

But it did not matter that she had seen so little of the wider world, for she had seen the results that its violence produced. She had heard the stories and seen the proof of shinobi brutalities; heard of their blind havoc that tore up landscapes, leaving people to starve without crops or livestock, of their cold-blooded efficiency in eliminating anyone they desired gone, whether for political or economic gain.

But at that moment, it occurred to Yuzuki that shinobi must not lead very secure lives themselves. 'After all,' she thought grudgingly, 'it can't be any fun having to fight someone all the time. And to be born and raised into it! They've probably never known any other way of living, and wouldn't be able to live any differently if they tried.' Yuzuki leaned back from the window, her hands gripping the sill and her arms stretched long. 'They know more about dying than they do about living, I bet.'

A sudden mist descended upon the young girl's senses. It was a grey cloud that blotted out the golden sunshine of her soul and dulled the vividness of her highly-colored world: it was a mood.

Yuzuki was startled that her spirits had taken such an abrupt dive. Sometimes she got like this. Her heart felt heavy as from sadness, but she did not know what could have caused the sadness she was experiencing. Perhaps, she was more tired than she thought.

Yuzuki took her hands from the windowsill and slid the two sides shut. She then softly made her way to her bed, and tucking herself under the covers, stared with dim eyes at the ceiling. The heaviness was still present in her chest. 'It must be because I'm tired and because it's nighttime,' she thought gloomily. 'Night is often like that. It's so dark and quiet you feel even more alone than usual.' She turned on her side. 'Sometimes it's nice and peaceful, but other times it's just lonely.'

After a couple of minutes, Yuzuki's eyelids began to droop, and she was vaguely aware of how deliciously comfortable her futon was as her body grew heavy and began to sink into its softness, as the darkness grew all-encompassing...

* * *

The overwhelming coppery smell of blood, gushing and excessive, rose and mingled with the scent of scorched earth and burnt flesh.

The smell of death.

Proud eyes, deeply ruby, stared out on the heaping mass of mud and human meat bathed in the silver light of the full moon, pitilessly taking its measure. Eyes so bright they seemed to glow in the dark. A mane of fine black hair rippled in the wind, away from a solid figure, as hard and as cold as marble, and just as immobile. A tentative voice addressed him.

"Madara-sama."

The owner of that voice, a young man, stepped up behind his lord. The young warrior was decorated in full armor, but he was a bit of a mess: his hair was awry, and streaks of dirt and blood covered his pale face. Nonetheless, he was quite fit, and he stood straight as if at attention.

At first, he did not move an inch, did not give any indication of having heard his name called at all. But then, after a moment, he turned and, facing the dirt-streaked warrior, who stood before other such like soldiers, said in a deep voice so full of natural authority that one could not help but think he had been born to it:

"Let's move out."

* * *

**There you go. Review, Review, Review!**


	3. Chapter 2: Strange Arrivals

**A/N: Hello everyone, and a big thank you to all who read and reviewed this story, and those who favored/ alerted it. It means so much to me. I am a first time writer, so feedback is invaluable. In one review, someone mentioned the concern that the mystery woman who I allude to in the prologue is going to be your typical all-powerful Mary Sue. Never fear! Mary Sue will not put in an appearance here (though, personally, I think Mary Sue is an overused term and one that is used too freely). The prologue is setting up several important themes and tone in this story that will become more prominent later on. See if you can guess what it is. ****One other thing: The same reviewer said that they were glad that I'm an OC writer who has done research on feudal Japanese womanhood. It's funny because, I'm actually basing those descriptions more off of what I know about modern Japan. One great thing about modern Japan: still lots of old traditions and attitudes. I have done research though and I've bought some books on the subject, so thanks for pointing that out. **

**I didn't mention this last time, but a great big virtual hug to my beta C. Nichole, who edited this chapter and the previous ones. You're amazing. Alright, on with the show. And please remember to review! It's very discouraging to get so many views and so very few reviews in comparison. That you're viewing my story doesn't tell me much – are you enjoing it? Are you reading it or just skimming? So please review, even if you don't have much to say, or aren't going to follow the story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto**

**Splendor**

**Chapter 2**

**Strange Arrivals**

* * *

_It was a sweltering and damp place that she was trapped in. Every which way she turned there was nothing in sight, nothing but the warm darkness that seemed to come from without and within._

_Yuzuki felt frightened, disoriented. She wanted to escape, but she couldn't. She had to, or she knew something bad would happen. What that was exactly she didn't know, didn't want to know, and didn't want to find out. Gradually, her limbs were losing their power and she could feel the darkness closing in, washing over her like a wave. Yuzuki fought against it, desperately, futilely. But she knew she was slipping – the fight in her spirit was leaving her, and her body went as limp as a rag doll's, supported only by a pair of strong arms clamped around her waist, holding her against something solid and breathing. A body? She did not know. She could not think. Something soft descended upon her neck._

_Suddenly, a flash of heat engulfed her in a wonderful surge of unexpected pleasure, and the darkness grew denser._

* * *

Yuzuki came back to earth with a jerk and her eyes slowly opened. For a few moments, she simply lay there, blinking blearily the sleep from her eyes, as her brain attempted to gather itself enough to analyze what she had woken from shortly before.

The dampness that was in her dream was physically evident on the sheets that were currently wrapped about her like a cocoon of humidity, encasing her in her own perspiration. Her limbs, galvanized by the wish to escape the cocoon, gently extracted her sweaty body from the twisting mess of blankets and she sat up with a hunched back, wiping the moisture from her brow, and tried to think back to her dream.

It had been a while since Yuzuki had a dream, much less a nightmare. She found that as she had gotten older, and moved out of childhood into adolescence, the state of her sleep time fancies had changed in some ways. They were more ominous, more focused, and more realistic. When she had been a little girl, her dreams had been as carefree and as magical as the indolent summer days spent with her siblings running through the forest and eating juicy watermelon; except for the occasional nightmare. Now, though, there seemed to be no such simple classification for her dreams, no definitive border between light and dark.

This dream had been scary, yet oddly pleasing in a way she didn't understand.

Sighing, Yuzuki turned her head towards the window, and her musings fell away as she noticed the shafts of sunlight streaming in through the rice paper squares. It was a beautiful day.

She stretched before she got up, trying to clear the fog of tiredness, and as she stood she noticed a yukata and an outfit of folded clothes set neatly next to her futon. Her mother must have dropped them off earlier. Struck with a sudden thought, Yuzuki rushed to the window, and pushing it aside, looked up into the sky beyond the veranda. It was much later than she'd thought. Why, it was getting on towards midday!

Yuzuki was annoyed at herself and annoyed that her mother had not woken her up, despite the probability that she would have brushed her off and returned to sleep had her mother attempted to rouse her.

Yuzuki looked back at the clothes and the yukata that was set out for her and sighed. She'd might as well take the time to bathe. There was no hurry today.

And with that in mind, Yuzuki forgot all about her dream.

* * *

They were not far from a village, and his men needed rest before they could continue onward to their stronghold in the north. The battle had been hard fought, but their losses unsubstantial, and they could all benefit from a break in their travels.

Truthfully, Uchiha Madara did not approve of resting, and did not approve of those around him resting; but he knew that the repose was much needed for his troops, and he could find no objections to it. For once, there was no particular hurry, no waiting clients, eager to enlist his clan's services, and no disturbances to attend to; so he felt no impatience as he made plans for his group comprising of thirty or so individuals making their way swiftly north. They would stop for a day in the village marked "Izumo" on the map, for a layover, before continuing on.

The members of the now defeated Fukuda clan had been utterly decimated, and Madara was riding high on this success. The Fukuda's were no Senju, but they were worthy opponents even if they were insignificant when compared to his nemesis. They had that troublesome kekkei genkai that gave them the ability to manipulate metals; but Madara, who had been called from from the front lines of another recently concluded battle, arrived, and in no time laid waste to the enemy and ended a stand-off that had lasted a day and a half.

A little rest would do no harm, was Madara's thought as he leapt gracefully from one tree branch to the next. He was still dressed in full armor, and he didn't mind the prospect of divesting himself of his clothing and perhaps having a proper bath, instead of a simple wash in the stream. He was remarkably unsullied for a man who had just fought, and when compared to the rest of his clansmen, but just the same, the idea of a bath he was not at all opposed to.

Besides that, there was a certain matter that required his scrutiny, and it would be better for him to do it away from his troops and in private.

* * *

The steam still emanated from Yuzuki's body as she exited the onsen, hair unbraided and sleek, and cheeks pink from warmth. The bath had worked its miracles over her, and she felt rejuvenated, as she always did after she cleansed herself.

As she continued to pat her hair with the white towel provided for her by her mother, Yuzuki thought about what she might like to do today. She needed some way to get rid of the cooped up energy stored inside her.

Maybe she could take a walk through the surrounding forest on one of the well-worn paths the villagers always took? No, that wasn't _something to do_. Leisurely strolls through the dense, sun-dappled greenery was something she did practically everyday the weather would allow her. It wasn't something special to fill her time with.

Yuzuki sighed, and, throwing her towel over her shoulder and tucking the bath supplies more securely underneath her arm, she began her travel back to her house. A few moments later, a young man and woman came into her line of vision.

They were hardly older than her – and they were obviously sweethearts. Yuzuki could see it in the boy's strut – assured and confident, coolly indifferent to the gentle affections of his girlfriend, who followed three steps behind him, eyes cast down demurely, a small, shy smile curving her lips – just like in romances.

Yuzuki watched them pass in front of her, a slight scowl forming on her face. Walking three steps behind your man might be considered romantic, but it seemed like it would make conversation a difficult task. The practical and rebellious part of her brain had a hard time understanding just what the logic was behind the custom. It seemed awfully silly – after all, it made no more sense than having a man walk three steps behind a woman.

And yet, unbidden, another, less rational piece of her, recognized the significance. This gesture of whole-hearted faith and commitment that women gave to their beloved, which went unacknowledged, this willingness to surrender, to be led – wasn't that in some ways, admirable too?

Somewhere, deep in her heart, was a secret yearning to be swept off her feet and be carried and protected through life's trials – protected by a love so pure, and so perfect and virtuous that it would be indestructible against any force. Somewhere, beneath her contrary nature and her inner disdain of tradition, was the desire to one day have someone she would willingly walk behind.

Yuzuki was still that young and untouched; she was still too immature to understand what real love was, or what loving someone really involved. All she knew was what all girls at her age wished for: to be swept away on a high tide of romance. Ignorant too, was she of sensuality and its place in love. She never thought about passion, because in her mind passion had nothing to do with her naïve notions of love.

Yuzuki turned from the two lovers she had been blatantly staring after, and again started her trek home. The weather had worsened in the last hour or so she'd been in the bath and she was just realizing it; clouds were gathering over the sun, clouds dark gray in color, threatening to bring rain, and the air had a sudden nipping chill to it. Yuzuki hastened her step, not wanting to be caught in a possible storm.

She was close to her house when abruptly, her eyes were caught by several dark shapes emerging from the woods in the distance, and she slowed her stride in order to discern what they were. She was able to make out a group of men, and she immediately assumed they were weary travelers looking for an inn to stay the night, something which happened frequently in Izumo. She was too far away to make out individual features, or to even tell what they were wearing. They appeared covered in some sort of protective padding.

Intrigued, she moved closer, positioning herself behind a tree. The longer Yuzuki watched them, the more she began to sense something strange – an energy, or something, that was about them, that wasn't consistent with your average visitors. Especially peculiar, was the man out front, who seemed to be leading the party.

All she could see of him visually was that he was that he looked the tallest in the group and he had long, spiked black hair.

Yet, what really caught her eye was not his height or his flowing hair; it was something that her mind could not articulate – something she felt rather than perceived – and it struck her like a physical blow, causing her to rear back slightly.

Then, without warning, the man's head turned in her direction. For one terrible moment, she saw red eyes gazing at her as clearly as though he were standing right in front of her, not even a foot away. What's more, she could see a bizarre black design in his irises – a pattern that made them appear even more unnatural than they already were; gasping, she ducked and sat quickly behind the tree.

_Red eyes_?

Yuzuki placed a hand over her chest; her heart was beating a mile a minute. She shuddered thinking about the blood red gaze. How exactly, had she managed to see the color of his eyes when she could not even make out the rest of his face? It was as if, in that instant, she'd been surrounded on all sides by those terrible eyes, magnified ten thousand times.

Yuzuki squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to rid her brain of the image. Swallowing thickly the momentary fear that had briefly lodged itself in her throat, she arose from her sitting position, and attempted to gather herself. After all, there was no sense in sitting in the dirt like a frightened ninny.

'There's nothing to be afraid of,' she scolded internally. 'So there's a man with red eyes? So what? He and his – his – _friends_, are probably just tired travelers on their way home from a business trip – or something like that. Besides, I'm probably just seeing things. There's no way anyone could have eyes of that particular... pattern.'

This cool reasoning brought a measure of calm to Yuzuki's mind, and she resumed her walk. She refused to give into the temptation to give a backwards glance at the strangers. Her heart had slowed to an almost normal pace now and there was no more feeling of terror, except for a small, lingering aftershock and a trace of doubt.

It was puzzling. She had never mistakenly seen things like that before. So why would she now – unless she was going insane? Yuzuki shrugged away from the thought, deciding then and there not to worry about it. There were more important matters at hand: red eyes or no red eyes, her job was to get herself back home before it started pouring.

* * *

Some time later, Yuzuki was seated at the kitchen table, spirits low from the thought of having to spend the whole day indoors because of a little rain. She knew that if she chose to go outside and returned later with her clothes and body soaked, especially since she'd just taking a bath, her mother would never let her hear the end of it, and would lecture her on into the night on her carelessness. So Yuzuki remained inside. It just wasn't worth the wrath that such an action would bring down upon her.

The boredom felt was acute and ever present. She didn't know what to do with herself. Katsuhiro couldn't entertain, for he was busy aiding his uncle with some business matter or other, and so had no time for her company.

The stillness and silence of her environment was driving her stir-crazy. Yuzuki got up, and fetched a book from one of the many collections of literary works stored around the house intent on reading, but she quickly abandoned the task. Normally, she enjoyed immersing herself in books, for it served to expand and stimulate her world and it allowed her to live vicariously another life more exciting and interesting than her own; but today, she could not concentrate long enough for the words to make any impression on her.

If only something would happen! Yuzuki gave an exaggerated sigh and allowed the upper half of her body to flop onto the table. If anything _ever _would happen.

**BOOM!**

Amber eyes widened at the deafening sound, and Yuzuki could hear the shrill cry of screams tear through the air as the ground shook thunderously. Never, in all her life, had she ever heard such a noise. Jerking herself up, she whipped her head left, in the direction of the explosion that was still rocking the earth. A thousand thoughts were racing incoherently through her head, and she could not catch upon a single one to mold into a rational explanation. All of a sudden, a memory sprang up from some visceral part of her mind, a memory of a group of odd men – and a pair of sinister red eyes.

_Them. _It had to be_. _Whatever just happened was because of _them. _She could feel it.

"Yu-chan," wobbled Kaeko's voice from the doorway, "w-what was –?"

Kaeko's unfinished question had barely left her lips before her big sister shot up from her seat on the floor, and turning, ran hurriedly out of the kitchen. "Stay inside the house," she instructed briskly as she passed Kaeko and strode towards the front entrance. Yuzuki could hear the shouts and sounds of large numbers of people moving about outside, a clear indicator that something was very wrong. Once she was in the entrance way, she bent down and picked up her shoes. "I'm going to look for mother."

Kaeko followed closely on her heels and protested: "But -"

"No 'buts!'"

"But – but, Yu-chan -"

Yuzuki turned furious amber eyes on her sister. "Oh, for God's sake, Kaeko, just do as I say!" she snapped. Overwrought nerves caused by tension brought severity, and her sibling fell back at the authoritative note in her voice. Seeing the helpless hurt and pained bewilderment written on Kaeko's face, Yuzuki softened and said in a more kindly, but still firm tone: "Stay in the house, honey. It's the safest thing to do. I'm going to go get Okaa-san – she'll probably know what's going on, and then we'll come right back, okay?"

Kaeko nodded dumbly.

"Good. Where's Shigeru?" asked Yuzuki, concerned for her little brother.

"I'm right here," squeaked Shigeru from down the hall. Yuzuki looked past Kaeko, scanning her approaching brother. He looked frightened but unharmed. "You stay here too," she told him, "and don't you dare follow me and try to play hero, or I'll – I'll tell mother on you."

After receiving Shigeru's acquiescent response, Yuzuki put on her shoes, slid open the door, and stepped out into the ferment of agitation and muddled chaos, closing the door resolutely behind her.

* * *

**Next chapter, they meet! And don't worry: there will definitely be more Madara from now on.**


	4. Chapter 3: Just A Small Town Girl

**A/N: Hello, everyone. I once again would like to thank all who reviewed/alerted/favorited this story. It means a lot to me, and really motivates me to keep going, especially reviews. It's a joy to know what my readers are thinking. I'm glad that everyone has seem to taken a liking to Yuzuki. I know how hard it is to get people interested in an OC, much less to like an OC. Many of them... _are_ unlikable. Hopefully, that's not the case here. Furthermore, I am glad that people have responded well to my details of traditions and attitudes. I think it is an important part of any story to have an established setting. In this story, since it's taking place before the main storyline of Naruto, I wanted to show the more old-fashioned ideals that I believe would have been more prevalent in the past.**

**Ok, in this chapter they meet. Lots of important plot development. Enjoy! And please review! I can't stress enough how much it means to me.**

**Also, a big thanks to my _new_ beta chibi-onna1. You're awesome.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto**

**Splendor**

**Chapter 3**

**Just A Small Town Girl**

* * *

Having cleansed himself and dressed in fresh clothing, Madara sat at the low table in the room provided for him and his men by the local inn, and allowed his mind to wander back to the issue that had been bothering him for quite some time.

He remembered the day just a few weeks ago when he had first heard the prophecy uttered in that dimly lit sea-cliff temple. He recalled the salty air mixed in with incense, and the feeling of suspense that hung its heavy cloak over the atmosphere of the small structure he was visiting.

He had been called there urgently by the only being that dared summon him in such a direct manner. Madara was familiar enough with the Grandfather Hawk's abilities to know that he would not be called upon for arbitrary reasons, and would not be bothered by him unless the matter was of the utmost importance. So when the message came that there was something important that Grandfather Hawk needed to discuss with him, Madara believed him and left promptly for the coast.

When he had arrived and stood in front of the large wizened old bird, his demand for an explanation as to why he had been summoned silently conveyed in his posture, which was cross-armed and stony, he was truly amazed at what he heard next.

After the prophecy was recited, the moribund Grandfather Hawk dismissed him, refusing to answer any questions Madara posed with the excuse that all he knew was what all that he had told him. Madara received word a little later that the old bird died soon after his visit.

With the Grandfather Hawk's death, his only means of information was an impossibility now. He had not deigned to share what he had heard with anybody but his closest advisers, and he neither trusted them nor respected them enough to handle the situation adequately. They hadn't the intelligence nor, in Madara's opinion, the strength necessary to do deal with such a crisis, and that left only himself to depend on. Besides, he had long since learned the consequences of depending too heavily upon anyone, even those he trusted – which was not many to begin with anyway.

The young clan leader furrowed his brow. If only Izuna were here. Then he would not feel half as burdened as he did now. Madara felt his eyes throb painfully, as they always did when he thought of his brother. They throbbed with an ache that only unhealed grief could bring, and he raised a hand and pressed it over his eyes and sighed –

Suddenly, he was aware of a presence outside the inn that could not possibly belong to any civilian. They weren't even bothering to conceal themselves any longer, and he could practically feel the waves of anger from his seat inside the room. He knew at once who the shinobi was, or at least the clan which they belonged to. Judging from the chakra he could simply send one of his men to deal with the stray ninja; and if things got out of hand he would step in.

The chance to relieve some of the irritation he was feeling brought a cruel smirk to Madara's handsome face.

* * *

The world was an inferno of anxious voices, raised, questioning and the smoke that spread from the center of town outward, thickened the air and created a brown haze that filled Yuzuki's lungs and irritated her eyes. From the plume of smoke coming from the center of town and the scattered crowds of villagers running away, Yuzuki surmised where the location of the explosion was and headed in that direction which was not far from where she was now.

Her palms had moistened and her heart was hammering loudly in her chest as she broke into a run. Okaa-san and Katsuhiro were there this time of day, her mother at work and Katsuhiro at his uncle's house. Yuzuki increased her speed, weaving deftly through the mobs of confused and frightened people. She was thankful it was no longer raining, for it would have made the whole ordeal seem even worse than it already was. Her mother and Katsuhiro might be injured or –

'No, no I can't think like that!' thought Yuzuki, as she stopped, turned and ran through the alley of some narrow buildings, and rapidly approached the site of the explosion. 'I can't think like that or I'll go mad. I need to be calm.'

Yuzuki halted before a large crowd of her fellow residents situated in a loose, scattered semi-circle on one side of a very large crater that could not have been created by any natural means. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the damage done to the surrounding complexes – the front of the local inn was completely gone, exposing the all but destroyed interior, and the shops around it had suffered similarly, with large chunks of roofs missing and walls blown apart or impacted by debris. Whatever had happened had obviously originated from the inn.

At first, Yuzuki did not see the imposing figure that so enraptured the audience of villagers that stood loosely encircling the deep crater and piles of rubble that were scattered about, for she was not looking at him. She was looking at the person who was on his knees before him, and her mouth went quite dry.

Hiro-kun.

Her childhood companion fell forward onto his hands. His downy black head was bowed and he was panting; there seemed to be something wrong with his face. What was it? Yuzuki pushed through the lines so she could get a better view, and her eyes never left his figure. As she drew closer she saw some thick liquid dripping from his obscured face. 'Blood,' she realized, speechless with horror, and she moved forward with concern so that she was standing in front of the other spectators. It was only then that her eyes drifted to the man standing in front of him, and her heart took a startled plunge.

Long flowing black hair, spiked in some places, streamed from a man so regal in bearing, so commanding in presence, and so striking in appearance that it was a wonder she had not noticed him before. He was wearing a simply cut black shirt that showed off his broad shoulders to perfection and black pants that emphasized his long legs. The man stood with well muscled arms crossed over his chest.

Yuzuki could only see his face in partial profile, for he was angled more towards Katsuhiro and the crater was between them; but even then the distance was not so great nor the angle so steep that she could not discern the aristocratic elegance of his face, the straight nose, the clean lines of his fine bone structure, and the dark beauty housed in his obsidian eyes that were staring down at Katsuhiro with no emotion.

Yuzuki's awed attention was torn away from the beautiful man when she heard Katsuhiro cough with a disgusting hacking sound that brought her sharply back to reality. Hiro-kun was hurt. Hiro-kun was hurt real bad. Galvanized by the display of weakness, Yuzuki stumbled forward, crossing over to the left side of the crater, nearly tripping over large piles of debris, while the crowd behind her made no move to assist. A small murmuring broke out among them as they watched the only one of them who was fool enough (in their opinion) to dare go near the evil rogues.

"Hiro-kun!"

Katsuhiro looked up at the sound of his name. But as soon as the young girl tried to approach him she was stopped by another man that she hadn't noticed was around heretofore. In fact, now that she was closer she saw that there were several dozen like men standing around, idle but alert, and they all had similar features. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn't seen them until now.

"I don't think that's a good idea," said the young man calmly grabbing Yuzuki's shoulders when she tried to maneuver her way around him.

"Please let me through!" cried Yuzuki. She looked up pleadingly at the man who was holding her shoulders in a tight grip and, even though his expression was stern, she saw in his eyes kindness and a little pity. "Please. He didn't do anything!"

"Didn't he?" questioned a deep and resonant voice from behind the young man, a voice that caused her to shiver slightly. "You can let her pass, Hikaku. She's no threat."

The man named Hikaku obeyed. Yuzuki sped past him and unhesitatingly knelt beside Katsuhiro. She made a point of not looking at the frightening figure beside them; although out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he hadn't altered his position in the slightest.

Yuzuki put one hand on Katsuhiro's shoulder and with the other lifted his face up to examine him. Just as she thought, he was injured badly; blood was trickling down his mouth in several thick lines of red, but there was no swelling that she could see. Whatever damage was done was internal which would explain his labored breathing. Katsuhiro coughed again, and she was alarmed to see the amount of blood that came pouring out when he did so.

"Your little friend there should have used better judgment, and not associated with a rogue shinobi." Yuzuki turned her head to look at the man who had spoken. He was an even more formidable person up close, and she had to fight the instinct to drop her eyes when his obsidian ones bored so deeply into hers.

He was looking at her in a cool and appraising way, as if measuring her worth, and in the end finding nothing of interest. His handsome face – even more beautiful up close – was insouciant.

Underneath the layers of cold fear and concern, a slow fire was building in Yuzuki, a fire fueled by his words, flamed by impotent rage and checked by fear. How dare this man stand there and speak so casually? How dare he hurt her friend and her village and then show no remorse for it? Instead, he was simply standing there, unperturbed, like he had done nothing wrong. The jerk. Hot words rose to her lips, but she said nothing.

The man's eyes fell away from her and to the villagers and the surrounding damage. Not a sound was uttered amongst them; they were all too stunned and cowed under the gaze of a man whom they already deduced was a shinobi.

"Well, it's not too bad," he observed, referring to the damage, " nothing you can't fix up if you all worked together and pooled your money." It took a second for Yuzuki to process the words, but when she did her rage broke through.

Why – her mind sputtered – why, he was mocking them! Mocking their humble origins and the destruction he had caused them!

Common sense told Yuzuki that she shouldn't speak, that she should be too properly afraid to do that; but in that moment, she did not feel afraid. She only felt a rush of furious indignation that he had insulted her village so – and by extension, herself, which was worse. In her mind, he had done both. It was bad enough that he mocked her village – but it was this perceived personal slight that truly set her off.

Fear no longer kept her in line; anger and hurt pride overrode common sense and, before she could stop herself, she shouted: "That's it!? You have nothing else to say?"

Katsuhiro groaned, but not out of pain. Of all the times for her to lose her temper, she _had_ to pick now. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for Yuzuki's impetuous and headstrong personality to get the best of her. In a society that valued reserve and restraint, Yuzuki had always been conspicuously lacking in these qualities, and it often got her into trouble – no more so than it would now.

The long haired man's gaze traveled back to Yuzuki and his eyes narrowed as his face hardened. The girl had risen to her feet, hands on her hips, and her large amber orbs were sparking with indignation. When their eyes met, he stared at her coldly.

"And what would I say?" he asked.

"How about an apology?"

"I have nothing to apologize for," he uttered with a deadly calm that had made lesser men shrink. "I owe you nothing."

But to his surprise, the little girl did not shrink; if anything her ire seemed to increase. Her cheeks turned an acrimonious red and her eyes brightened until they fairly glowed.

"Yes, you do! Look at all the damage you and your men caused! And look what you did to poor Hiro-kun when he didn't do anything wrong!" Yuzuki could hear faint gasps somewhere from the background, presumably from the villagers, and for the first time, she saw the other men around her who until now had done nothing, shift restlessly.

Yuzuki had no time to think about what that meant, for the man before her had taken a step in her direction, causing her courage to falter. Then another; then another. He moved with a slow panther-like grace, every step drawing him closer, and Yuzuki had to resist the temptation to take a step back each time. The fear that had been held at bay was starting to flow back into her, causing her to swallow hard and ball her fists.

Suddenly, she wanted to take back what she had said. Animal instinct kicked in and it told her that this man, this beautiful monster, was probably going to kill her for running her mouth off. He looked like a man who would do such a thing. Now she knew why no one else had reproached him or his men.

A sickening feeling of disaster oppressed her, and a fine tremble began to rack her body, and her heart pounded violently in her ears as she watched the demon approach. 'Perhaps,' she thought quickly, 'perhaps if I say I didn't mean it and that I'm sorry he won't hurt me and -'

'But,' voiced another part of her brain, cutting through the feeling of despair, 'but you _did _say those things. So what's the use in cowering like a fool? Even if you apologize on your hands and knees, he'll still probably kill you. You can't take back what you said. So why not die with a little dignity?'

All at once, the sickening feeling departed, and her mind calmed herself even in her despair. Of course there was no use in acting like a scared rabbit. And there was no use in humbling herself in front of this monster when she was ten times the better person than he. She didn't know anything about him, but she knew that at least.

Courage came back to her steadily. Was he going to kill her? Well, by God, let him try it! Yuzuki squared her shoulders and her chin went up defiantly. She would not go down without a fight.

It was startling how her emotions had gone from fear to anger to despair, and finally to defiance in only the last couple of minutes. As moody as Yuzuki was occasionally, her feelings had never been so volatile as they were now. Something about this man and the way his obsidian eyes gleamed aroused her hate and challenged her spirits. Finally he stopped in front of her, hardly more than a foot away. He was so much taller than her, so imposing, so radiant of power, that it threatened to weaken her – but she stood her ground.

"Yu-chan," began Katsuhiro fretfully, tugging on her skirt, "Yu-chan, you need to leave -"

"Don't be stupid, Hiro-kun," Yuzuki scowled. "You know I'm not afraid."

"I know. That's what _I'm_ afraid of," he moaned quietly, dropping his hand from her skirt.

Yuzuki crossed her arms and glared with all the fire she could muster into the eyes of Uchiha Madara. Madara looked at her, and he saw none of the bravery of a young woman setting her face against the inevitable and confronting a grim reality. He only saw a girl of fifteen looking very obstinate and very silly. He was about to tell her how silly she looked and warn her what a mistake it was to stand up to him, when he heard a slight clamor.

"I need to speak with your leader." Yuzuki's eyes widened and she turned. It was Nanushi-sama, the headman of the village. The same young man – Hikaku, she remembered – who had stopped her before when she had been trying to aid Katsuhiro was now blocking Nanushi-sama's way. The young man – whom she now noticed was quite handsome as well – looked to his leader in unspoken question, and was given an affirmative nod. Hikaku stood aside and let the village headman pass.

Tanaka Daitaro was a gray-haired gentleman, stout and jovial, with a round face adorned by a thick salt and pepper mustache. Tanaka Daitaro was, of course, his actual name, but everyone referred to and addressed him by his proper title, as politeness dictated.

Under normal circumstances, he was as kindly a fellow as could be found; but these were not normal circumstances, and when he reached them and dropped to the ground in the deepest bow possible, Yuzuki could see a small tremor present in his body and in his voice when he spoke.

"Uchiha-sama, please forgive these two. They are young and do not know any better. Please forgive the girl's insolence. She is but a child."

Madara said nothing, so the headman continued: "I, and everyone else in the village, can vouch for the boy when we say he has no affiliation with the the rogue shinobi that tried to attack your clan. He is a good boy from a nice family, and he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

A small, tense silence followed, during which neither Madara's demeanor nor his posture altered. He was looking at the headman's bowed form with blank eyes, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Alright," he pronounced finally, "I won't hold them accountable. Like you said, they are just children."

Yuzuki twitched at the condescension and at Daitaro's consequent bowing and scraping, thanking the clan leader profusely for his mercy.

Madara did not bother to listen, but turned to his men and signaled to them that they were moving on. At once, his men were up and – to Yuzuki's disbelief, her mouth agape – they seemed to fly through the air in one graceful bound, that led them out of the village and into the forest nearby.

* * *

It wasn't until he and his men had begun setting up camp in the forest and his thoughts had wandered back to the amber-eyed girl who had shouted at him, that Madara came to an abrupt realization. How he had not seen it before, he did not know. The image of the girl and the words of the prophecy mingled together, and he realized he had found what he had been looking for.

* * *

The day's events had drained Yuzuki of all energy. After that Madara man had left, her mother came running through the crowd, white-faced and stricken, and had attempted to usher her home. But Yuzuki refused, wanting to find out from Katsuhiro exactly what had transpired before she had arrived, and to make sure that he was ok.

Several men helped lift Katsuhiro's limp form, and as they were escorting him away, it was her mother who explained rapidly what had happened. Apparently the story was that a rogue shinobi, the last or one of the last survivors of his clan, had entered the village for the purpose wreaking vengeance upon the _Uchiha clan_ – at least, that's what Haruka had heard was their name – and attacked the inn where the clan had stayed.

Then an explosion followed and Hiro-kun, who was busy running errands for his uncle, was on hand when he saw the lone shinobi stumbling out of the debris. Thinking he was simply an innocent who was hurt, he hastened to assist him. Uchiha Madara, who was the leader of the clan, saw this, killed the shinobi, and did something to Hiro-kun to debilitate him in the mistaken belief that he and the ninja were in league.

For hours afterward, Yuzuki sat at the table, waiting to hear news on Katsuhiro's condition. His uncle finally arrived with the message that Katsuhiro was going to be alright, that a doctor was treating him, and that Yuzuki had their gratitude for her brave actions.

Yuzuki did not feel particularly brave now. She felt tired, and made her way to her bedroom and sat by the window streaming in moonlight. Everyone else had gone to bed as well after much fussing by her mother that she had been too tired to fend off.

She wondered vaguely how the community was going to redress all the destruction done today. What would the people who ran the inn do or the people from the encompassing buildings for that matter? They hadn't the money to repair what was lost, and that was their livelihood. What would they do for work?

Yuzuki was too weary to contemplate these thoughts and she arose with a sigh, intent on settling onto her futon before she collapsed. When she turned around, she saw something move in the corner of her room, and stopped to look at it.

That area of the room was shrouded in shadow. Yuzuki moved closer in curiosity. She was certain she'd seen _something_.

All of a sudden, her vision was pierced by two glowing red orbs that went straight to her soul. Yuzuki had only the briefest moment to think 'Oh!' before she passed out.

Madara was across the room in an instant and caught her falling body with ease before she could hit the floor. He held her against him; her face tilted back, angled perfectly towards his so he could see the moonlight bathing her in its silvery beams. Absently, he raised a hand and stroked her hair, then cupped her head and brought it to his chest.

He stood there in the modest bedroom and satisfaction filled his covetous heart. He finally had what he wanted.


	5. Chapter 4: Bitter Revelations

**Author's Note: Phew! This chapter was really hard to write! I thank all those who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. In regards to the prophecy: you're going to have to wait a little. It wouldn't make sense to reveal it now. Don't worry, everything will come together eventually.**

**As always, please review. It's discouraging to have such an uneven ratio of people reading my story and people reviewing it. Not to sound ungrateful, but it's not that difficult; just a couple of words is fine. Feedback is greatly appreciated.**

**Thank you, chibi-onna1 for editing this chapter.**

**On with the show! Enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Splendor**

**Chapter 4**

**Bitter Revelations**

* * *

_The darkness was back again. But this time instead of suffocating warmth, there was biting cold. At first, nothing was visible. It was just her and the darkness and the cold. She couldn't even see her breath coming out in warming puffs right in front of her so obscured was her sight. Yuzuki shivered and her hands rubbed her arms, trying to create friction – or at least she thought that's what she was doing. It was hard to be certain, for she had the oddest sense of disconnect from the corporeal. Like she was simply a conscious, bodiless entity floating about in empty space, and not at all like the full-blooded human being that she knew herself to be. It was such a curious thing, that she had no choice but to take it as it came – that is, without fuss or question._

_Yuzuki seemed to float there for an indeterminable amount of time. Her mind was so thick with fog and emptiness, her feelings so still and undisturbed by the sense of danger that had plagued her last time, that she did not notice the gradual lightening of her surroundings, the unnatural cold being displaced by a slow coming warmth, or the reunion of body and mind that was taking place. She wasn't aware of it all until she was actually awake, and could see the light shining through her closed lids, and feel the rough, woody material – a log, she guessed – that she was lying upon._

Yuzuki opened her eyes.

* * *

The first thing she saw were trees – lots of them, their trunks long, their canopies heavy – and between them was the light blue of a sky still dotted with stars when it is in transition, night giving way to day. She lay there and looked at it a while. Then her head panned to the left where some movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

What she saw were men gathered around the dying embers of a fire, seated on the ground or upon logs and it was with a vague half-start that she realized that they were the same men from earlier, the ones who had destroyed a part of her village and had walked – _flown – _away as if they had done nothing wrong.

Tiredly, she took in the scene. There were fewer men than she remembered; there were perhaps only nine or ten. No one was paying her any heed, absorbed in their own activities, some of them silent and drawn, others chatting softly about what she did not know, many listening to the conversation with thoughtful expressions, a couple rifling through their possessions – except for one, and Yuzuki's eyes landed on him last.

He was positioned on a log somewhat away from the rest of the group, something which seemed to underlie his position as the one who stands not a part of the circle, but above it; his legs and arms were crossed, and his black eyes stared at her impassively and she had the unsettling notion that he had been watching her since the exact moment she had woken.

When their eyes met, life and feeling and comprehension returned to her, and she gasped. She recognized him. He was that wretched Madara man.

Yuzuki pushed herself up so quickly that the world spun and she nearly fell off the log. One hand went to the rough bark to anchor herself and the other clutched at her forehead, which was filled with sudden hurt. Yuzuki squeezed her eyes shut, her brow furrowing and her jaw clenching as blobs of light popped in and out of existence amidst the swirl of pain knocking about her brain. Finally, the ache subsided a little and, blinking, she looked up –

and quite nearly toppled off again when she found Madara towering over her. "Good grief!" she exclaimed scrambling up from her perch. It was an automatic response: she did not want to be at a disadvantage sitting down.

Yuzuki stood, ogling at his blank face with wild disbelief. Somehow, her mouth managed to form words and a stream of questions came with no pause between them for answer: "Who are you people? What do you want? Where am I? What am I _doing_ here?"

She finally stopped, breathless, and waited for a reply. But none was made. The whole camp had gone totally silent. Madara simply stared at her, one thin eyebrow raised, a movement she wasn't sure how to interpret. Once more, Yuzuki had to fight the urge to look away from him; he was so overwhelming, his onyx eyes black with a worldliness that seemed beyond his years, deepened by shrewd intellect and ambition, steeled by malice and contempt, and beneath it all was barely repressed savagery.

Yuzuki's heart thrummed with fear and filled her ears with its erratic beat as the silence ticked on. Everyone was staring at her, and their countenances appeared to her cool and hostile, but also alight with a sort of impersonal curiosity, as if they were looking at some interesting specimen of insect. The whole situation had a sort of nightmarish quality to it, so that it felt as if she were conversing in a dream with dream people in a dream world. Nothing felt real. The hazy ache dogged her, making her slightly dizzy, adding to her confusion, bolstering the dreamy ambient.

"That," came Madara's deep authoritative voice at last, cutting through the fog, "is on a need to know basis. And you don't need to know."

Yuzuki's eyes had snapped back to him when he had spoken, and she was looking at him in a now almost familiar mixture of rage, amazement and fear. Was there no end to this jerk's arrogance? On top of that, her mind was still trying to make sense of what had happened while she was asleep. One minute she had been in her room, ready to fall right into bed and then – that was it.

Yuzuki struggled to recollect what had occurred next. There was some kind of gap in her memory: a hole in the time line that was key to the predicament she currently was in, but for the life of her, she could not remember what it was. And this man, with his laconic responses and excruciating stare, was making it _that_ much harder. Yuzuki buried her head in her hands. This was a dream, a nightmare! It had to be! The circumstances, the people, the dull aching in her temples – all, all very unreal.

"I – I don't understand. Why am I here? With you?"

There was a pause before Madara clucked softly, disapprovingly: "My dear young girl... Surely you have figured out that you have been kidnapped?" and his tone was lightly mocking.

_Kidnapped!_

She mentally screamed the word, and it seemed to echo in her mind, for her mind was quite empty of any other thought. A numbing sensation took hold of her, stilling the blood in her veins, and contracting her throat so tightly it strangled all utterance. _Kidnapped!_ Yuzuki sat down hard on the log.

Madara watched the girl with mild interest. She was clearly in shock, which was understandable: her lips were parted as if too weakened by the incredible news to keep it shut, and her arms hung limply by her sides. Her face was slack, drained of color, and her eyes were distant and horrified like she had been swept up in a daydream, one that had gone hideously wrong. Well, she could stay that way for all he cared. It would make controlling her easier.

He recalled the other day when she had stood before him, shoulders squared, chin up, eyes stormy and turbulent, ready to fight, but not realizing just how deeply in trouble she was; he recalled her bellicose temperament, and he thought how unpleasant the task of taking on this girl would be if she continued to display such obstinate behavior. In his opinion, only a spoiled child who had never been taught the consequences of her actions, who knew nothing of self-discipline and boundaries, who had never hitherto met with true danger, could act with such foolhardiness.

Madara turned to his men, and gave the brief order: "Break camp and move on ahead. I need to talk to our little prisoner." His commands were obeyed immediately and without question, the men stomping out the fire and dissembling any evidence of human habitation. Hikaku was throwing furtive worried glances in the girl's direction, but when he caught his leader's gaze, he smoothed his features into a look of studied apathy.

It took less than a couple of minutes till they were packed up accordingly and leaping through the trees, winding their way through the forest. Madara then concentrated his full focus on the girl.

The first waves of shock were beginning to dissipate, and in its place came the complete enormity of the situation. This was not a nightmare; this was reality. Yuzuki's lids stung with tears and she was forced to gulp down the sob that threatened to escape her. 'I mustn't cry,' thought the coherent part of her brain, trying desperately to pull some semblance of a plan together. 'I mustn't cry, or – he'll just look down on me, like I'm pathetic.'

The logic of this statement brought some balm to her sore heart. It was good to know that she hadn't abandoned herself to panic. Following this new line of reason, she continued: 'If I act like his victim, he'll treat me as his victim; if I treat him like a villain, he'll act like a villain.'

But what to do instead? Yuzuki bit her lip and her eyes went swiftly up to Madara's; but, unable to sustain the contact, she dropped them again and balled her fists in her lap so tightly that her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. Think! What should she do? What motive would this shinobi have in kidnapping her? It didn't make any sense.

Unless – her eyes widened – unless it was because she had stood up to him yesterday! Was that it? He didn't like her defiance and now he sought to punish her for it? Because she had made him lose face? No, but that didn't add up. If that was it, then why hadn't he done that yesterday when he'd had the chance? Maybe because the headman intervened and he didn't want to do it in front of a bunch of people for fear of retaliation? That couldn't be it! He was a shinobi, and from the manner he carried on, a mighty powerful one at that. He wouldn't have been afraid of angering some backwater village. Besides, from the arrogance Yuzuki perceived, he didn't seem like the type who would waste his time on a girl like her. Yet, this was the only reason she could imagine.

Oh, why had she been so stupid and run her mouth like a fool? Occurrences of that attribute happened frequently with Yuzuki. She had never had many friends due to the discomfiture caused by her outspokenness. She sometimes would remark upon things in such a direct and opinionated manner, that her remarks were considered unanswerable by her fellow villagers. It wasn't that she was viewed as a mean-spirited person; it was just that her habit of putting her thoughts and feelings into words and voicing them aloud troubled the people around her, and it had made her a kind of outcast.

Now she was paying a hefty price for doing exactly what her mother had forever wished to stop her from doing. The idea that this was the most plausible motive for her kidnapping brought renewed horror and fear, and, for the first time, regret. Oh, why had she done it? To a shinobi no less! And everyone knew how vindictive and cruel shinobi were.

A large gloved hand appeared, grasping Yuzuki's chin, lifting her face up. Madara's coldly beautiful eyes regarded her down the declivity of his aristocratic nose. She froze, and for a heart-pounding few seconds, Yuzuki felt like she was falling, literally falling, hurtling headfirst into the black abyss of those onyx gems. She had never seen eyes like his before. There was something about them, something compelling and magnetic, that seemed to draw her in when she looked into them and gave her the distinct impression that she was a lamb trapped in a lion's den.

Then, she felt the fox of wrath gnawing at her vitals and hot blood flowing to her cheeks. He was touching her – _touching her!_ – the damn cad, and he had no right to do that. Yuzuki stiffened her spine and, reaching up, she swatted at the offending appendage. To her surprise, Madara relaxed his grip and allowed his hand to be pushed away, his features never altering one centimeter.

"Well? You said you wanted to speak to me," she bit out, reminding to avail herself of her own advice: Don't act like a victim.

Madara cocked his head slightly to the left. "So I did," he replied evenly, "and it is concerning a matter that would best be kept between the two of us."

Yuzuki frowned at the implied intimacy."What _are _you talking about?"

"I need you."

Silence reigned. For the fourth or fifth time that day, Yuzuki was at a loss. Madara's eyes had taken on a sudden penetrating intensity that was bewildering and pushed all the oxygen from her lungs. Heretofore, she had never encountered anything from him but indifference and, on occasion, fleeting amusement; but never had he, nor anyone else, looked at her so dissectingly, so keenly.

"Or rather, the Uchiha need you," he continued. "Tell me, girl, do you know of a place called 'Takamagahara?'" Yuzuki shook her head, too perplexed to even protest at the lowly address of "girl."

"Then are you familiar with the Sage of the Six Paths? No? Not many are." Madara fell mute at this last statement. He should have known better than to hope... of course it was too much to expect that she would know anything pertinent. Nonetheless, the key still lay within this delicate wisp of a girl, and he was determined to suss it out – even if it meant breaking her.

That was a shame, for there was something almost touching in the stubborn dignity she had demonstrated, and which Madara found admirable even in his contempt.

It puzzled and irritated him that he should regard her in this way. She was just a weak little girl who couldn't keep her mouth shut. Why would he, Uchiha Madara, who possessed a lineage stretching as far back as the beginning of the ninja world itself, who had battled countless men, who wielded power unheard of and nearly unmatched, which could bring the mightiest of men to his knees – why would he find this villager – a girl, no less – worthy of even an ounce of his respect?

A scowl twisted Madara's mouth. It was absurd! He shouldn't be wasting his time contemplating these things. All that counted in the end was how he could best use this girl to further his own aims. Impatiently, the young clan leader reached down and yanked Yuzuki up, earning an indignant "Hey!" in the process, and in one motion swung her off her feet and into his arms.

Yuzuki yelped, startled, embarrassed. This was the first time she had been held like this and the first time she had been so close to a man. What was he –?

The wind roared in her ears and the scenery blurred as her captor left the ground and jumped in one bound to the branch of a tall tree, where he balanced expertly for a moment and glanced down at her. Her visage must of have been one of pure terror, for Madara smirked in a smug hateful way, before jumping to another branch on another tree, then another. Yuzuki's arms went about his neck in a tight clasp, all pretenses of bravery dropped, burrowing her head into his chest as much as his red armor would allow. A sharp, earthy scent filled her nostrils. She could still feel the movements, and her stomach went _flip-flop_ in such an unpleasant fashion that she thought she was going to be sick.

"Put me down!" she demanded in a frightened, muffled voice. Madara ignored her.

While the nausea persisted for the next couple minutes, Yuzuki collected her wits enough to wonder where they were going. The Jerk – as she referred to Madara in her mind – had ordered his clansmen up ahead, so his plan was probably to catch up with them. That was what she hoped, for she was certain she could not endure another minute alone in The Jerk's presence. At least when they were around other people he would give the space she deserved, she thought naively.

The dawn was in full bloom, and the forest which Yuzuki loved so much came alive under its nurturing warmth, birds chirping, animals frolicking in the undergrowth, dew dripping, flowers budding and unfolding their petals, the whole area bursting into variegated colors – all the sights and sounds Yuzuki had loved since childhood, but which she was in no position to admire right at present.

Images of her loved ones floated before her: Her mother, foremost, followed by Kaeko, Shigeru, Katsuhiro... and Akira, his beautiful blue-violet eyes smiling down at her. Yuzuki's heart constricted painfully and she could feel herself growing lachrymose. 'No!' she told herself firmly, unconsciously tightening her clasp around Madara. 'I can't cry. Not here, not now. I need to think of something else.' She frantically cast about for some different line of thought, finally settling on what The Jerk had asked her before.

Just who was the Sage of the Six Paths? And why had he expected her to know who that was?

He had told her that he needed her and from that Yuzuki inferred that he wasn't going to kill her... yet. So where did that put her? The prospect of captivity and what conditions she would be kept in, should Madara decide to keep her, was almost as equally repelling as the possibility of death. She could picture it, a cell, dark, dank, heavy with a rotting odor, the type of place that condemned criminals in the stories she'd heard inhabited. If that was to be her fate, perhaps it would be better to die. It was funny that thinking of her own imprisonment was less upsetting than thinking of her family and friends.

"_I need you... Or rather, the Uchiha need you."_

Yuzuki furrowed her brow. What those words meant, she could not guess, but whatever it was she would have to learn how to use it to her advantage one way or another.

* * *

They went on for hours like that, Yuzuki tucked safely (or unsafely) in Madara's arms, Madara leaping from branch to branch, never missing a step, never wobbling. These actions repeated themselves for so long that the nausea had faded mostly, and her arms around his neck became so stiff they seemed to have locked permanently in that position.

They had stopped once, at approximately midday, for a short respite and a meal – only it wasn't really a meal. Just a couple of nuts and berries and a dubious looking leafy plant that Madara produced for her consumption. He, himself, had eaten nothing and no words were exchanged before they were off again.

The journey was having a peculiar effect on Yuzuki; although she had not walked a single step herself, she felt as weary and as inert as if she had crossed an entire mountain. The method utilized to render her unconscious, combined with the emotional distress of the kidnapping by a man she already loathed and the bitter revelation that she may never return home, had taken its toll on the fifteen-year-old.

Her analyzing of the words "Sage of the Six Paths" and "Takamagahara" first slowed then halted altogether. Earlier, she had tried broaching the subject to Madara, but The Jerk would have none of it and cut her off rudely, thus resigning her exclusively to inward speculation.

Yuzuki wondered distantly why they hadn't caught up to the rest of The Jerk's clan.

"Because I'm taking a different route."

Yuzuki was too tired to give a start when Madara spoke. It had been a while since he had said anything. How had he known what she was thinking? She looked up at his chiseled face, marveling at the fact that his voice disclosed no signs of fatigue; then she dropped head against his chest again, neck too sore to support her.

"Why are you doing that?" she mumbled.

Madara did not answer, but jumped from the tree branch to the ground. His charge was ready to pass out from the looks of it, and besides that, it was getting dark; best that they stop and set up camp for the night.

When Madara set the girl on her feet, she wobbled precariously for an instant, grabbing hold of his arm in an effort not to fall. Madara shrugged her off. "Sit down," he instructed shortly, "and stay here while I get some fire wood."

Yuzuki's pulse quickened and hope sprang anew. Here was a chance to make her escape! Her feelings must have shown clearly in her eyes, for Madara sneered: "Don't be stupid. You have no chance of escaping me. Even if by some miracle you did, where would you go and how would you survive? We're miles from any settlement and these woods are filled with vicious animals that could tear you to pieces in seconds."

Yuzuki grimaced and glared churlishly at the ground, her hopes dashed. He was right, of course but he needn't be so nasty about it. In rebellion, she stomped towards the closest tree in a noiseless huff and sat down against the trunk. It was nice to sit down and spread her legs and the tree felt so comfortable when compared to the disorienting vertigo and jostling she had been put through in the past hours.

Madara went to gather firewood and, finding herself alone, her thoughts went back to her family. What she thought of were inconsequential things: a memory of munching watermelons with her two siblings on the open veranda in the summer heat, spitting the seeds at each other; Hiro-kun laughing, when she'd teased him about Kaeko and commented how nice it would be to have him for a brother-in-law; her mother tucking her into bed and reciting the tale of The Tanuki Band of Shojoji; and last spring when her beloved Akira visited Izumo after an extended period of separation, and they had stood together under a Sakura tree, the petals dancing in the breeze, showering them in pink and brightness and he had told Yuzuki what a lovely young lady she had become, causing her to blush as prettily as the cherry blossoms swirling around them.

Below the surface fatigue, something stirred hurtingly. Yuzuki missed her family, missed them terribly, and had taken them for granted. Now, she may never see them again.

Tears sparkled in her amber eyes as she finally gave out under the long strain and, leaning her elbows on her knees and cupping her face in her hands, she cried weakly.


	6. Chapter 5: Under the Stars

**A/N: Hello, everybody! A big thanks to all those who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story – especially to those who reviewed. You guys make my day. Several people commented that I kept Madara in character last chapter: I certainly hope I did! I'm no fan of OOCness (although every character has their moments). **

**This chapter's a bit weird in that it doesn't have much plot. It's mostly an ice-breaking chapter. Tell me what you think, particularly about how Yuzuki and Madara's relationship is progressing. Remember, reviews are golden! Each one is read and considered.**

**Plus, who here's read the latest Naruto chapter? Crazy.**

**A big virtual hug for my awesome beta chibi-onna1 for editing this chapter**

**Splendor**

**Chapter 5**

**Under the Stars**

* * *

She ceased her weeping a minute prior to Madara's re-entrance; he carried in one arm wood for a fire, and grasped in his other hand, hanging limply by its ears, a dead rabbit that she presupposed they were to share for dinner.

Yuzuki refused to look at him as he set about arranging things, for she knew if she did not focus on something else there was a very real possibility that she would erupt into a torrent of jumbled expletives that would've put her mother in a swoon. Now that she'd had a good cry, all that was left in her was a snappish irritability that any little thing could set off.

But since it had been her belligerent attitude that had gotten her into trouble in the first place, Yuzuki wisely surmised that it was better to divert her attention and thus avoid a confrontation than to face the consequences that such a showdown would incur.

Instead she searched around for something nicer to think of; but all the fifteen-year-old was able to latch onto were memories, memories of bygone days, of laughter and sympathy and comfort –

Yuzuki squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the tears travel up her throat in a lump, a lump that would soon dissolve into sobs of anguish. A mantra sounded in her head: 'I mustn't cry, I mustn't cry, I mustn't cry -'

A jagged white light flashed from behind Yuzuki's lids, and her eyes flew open in alarm and she blinked at the unexpected brightness that greeted her. Light and heat lit up the entire area as a fire roared to life and, as its orange and yellow tendrils licked the logs, Yuzuki's eyes traveled from the big ball of flame in the center of the hearth, to the steady line of molten heat ascending away from it, and finally to its origin: Madara's mouth.

Yuzuki's jaw dropped. Madara 's left hand was circled and held very close in front of his lips, obviously to direct the stream of fire to the appropriate place. The spectacle was over in less than a second, the performance requiring no effort from Madara, leaving large, gorgeous flames reaching ever higher for the sky; but to the simple, protected village girl that Yuzuki was, it could've lasted an hour, so strong an impression did it make. She stared wide-eyed at the fire for a long while, then turned her gaze back to the shinobi.

It took Yuzuki a moment to find her bearings, and when she did her voice was full of avid curiosity and awe: "Wow, that was amazing! How did you do that?"

All she was met with in return was a raised eyebrow and cold silence. And as the silence stretched on into awkwardness, Yuzuki's eagerness faded and something akin to embarrassment crept over her: embarrassment at her lack of knowledge, embarrassment at the way her question had been put. She sounded like one of those giddy schoolgirls who tittered over every little thing, and made silly inquiries about the simplest of tasks.

Granted, what she'd witnessed was certainly no minor undertaking, but her mind still made the comparison. In her wonderment, she even forgot that she was mad at this man who had taken her away from all that she knew, a fact that annoyed her when she realized it.

"Oh, that's alright," Yuzuki leaned back and crossed her arms petulantly, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

'Jerk,' she seethed inwardly.

Apparently shinobi did not value sarcasm, for Madara cut her a glacial look which nearly sent her scampering for the hills. It was a look devoid of venom though, with no trace of anger – only the mildest hint of vexation, so she was able to endure it despite the small dart of fear that stabbed at her gut – a fear more acute now that she had beheld some of what he was capable of.

It occurred to Yuzuki that Madara, had he truly been angry and bothered to show it, would indeed be a terrifying sight to behold. It was so plain in the leashed power of his body, in the chip on his shoulder that was so big it was almost visible; and Yuzuki didn't care to disturb it.

* * *

Yuzuki never ate rabbit before, but it tasted delicious. She ate quickly and fiercely, unashamed of her appetite: why should she care to appear ladylike in front of this brute?

When she finished she looked at Madara seated distantly across and to her left, and was surprised when she saw he was not eating as well. Had he already finished? His mien seemed so inaccessible and inhuman, that she would've liked to have caught him in an act as mortal as eating; it would've made her feel that they were somehow on the same level. Instead, she saw him sitting with his arms crossed – that seemed to be his default position – with that bland inscrutable expression that she found so irksome.

"How old are you, girl?"

Yuzuki gave an involuntary half-start when Madara spoke. She hadn't anticipated conversation to be made between them, much less one initiated by The Jerk himself. Well, if he wanted to talk to her he might as well get her name right."Yuzuki," she corrected him curtly.

When Madara stared at her, and Yuzuki cleared her throat, explaining, "My name is Yuzuki. Not 'girl.' You should know that seeing as how you're the one who kidnapped me."

"_Yuzuki,_" her name rolled off the shinobi's tongue as if testing it, weighing it and, evidently, finding it to his liking. There was a deep, resonant timbre to his voice that recalled to Yuzuki the darkness from her dreams, a darkness that was subtly lurid, suggestive of sultriness, and dangerously warm. For some reason Yuzuki could not fathom, she well-nigh blushed. She didn't know why and hoping to deflect from her confusion by giving it no further attention she said: "I – I'm nearly sixteen."

Madara's eyes were half-lidded as he regarded her and his mouth twisted into a faintly wry curve. "So you're fifteen. That does make you just a girl then."

Yuzuki was successfully jolted from her confusion by his words. There was something about the way he said 'girl' that made it seem the most derogatory of terms. "I am a girl, but I'm not '_just_' a girl," she declared stoutly, tossing her head. "I'm not '_just_' anything. And you say it as if it's a bad thing, as if it's – well, as if it's a bad thing to be a girl. And it's not," she added, as if reassuring herself.

To this, Madara said nothing, but his eyes narrowed in a non-menacing way at the girl's strange words. What sort of nonsense was she babbling? A girl is a girl, and heaven knows no one would be born female if they could help it. Women and their insane lack of logic.

Yuzuki shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, drawing her legs in so that she was hugging them to her chest, and clamping the bottom of her skirt beneath her arms to keep it from falling open and exposing her. Blessedly, she had not been wearing her pajamas or a yukata when Madara had knocked her out, and she was dressed in her usual garb of a blue cotton skirt going past her knees to about mid-shin and a white blouse. Unfortunately, all she had on her feet were a pair of indoor slippers.

According to the standardized codes of her day, Yuzuki's choice of clothing was considered by those of older generations to be scandalously revealing. Yuzuki's paternal grandparents, who lived in a nearby village with their second son and his family, had always bemoaned the skirts that showed off the bare legs of young women, the fabric that clung unabashedly to every curve, and the necklines so shockingly low that they revealed not only naked collar bones and half-covered shoulders, but hints of soft bosoms as well, and they frequently stated the opinion that society was coming to a moral collapse.

_Furisode_, they declared, with their padding and multiple layers and formlessness, were the proper dress for unmarried women, though their eldest granddaughter was not even of marital age yet.

At first, Yuzuki's own mother had been against her wearing the new fashion; but Haruka finally capitulated when her daughter managed, in a rare episode of humble appeal, to convince her that this was the most suitable mode of attire for someone like her. It was true that traditional kimonos were very restricting and did not allow for much movement, and her daughter was such an active little thing. Haruka herself wore loose-fitting dresses since they were much more practical and convenient.

Besides, kimonos were so expensive, and Haruka was a frugal woman who strictly controlled her spending and it gave her less of a headache to know that she was dolling out smaller amounts of money on clothing that, after all, was quite adequate in keeping her children warm, in spite of its impropriety.

Only Yuzuki's clothes were not doing such a good job of that now: the April night was cool, probably due to the recent rainfall, and the fire, though hot and crackling, was not sufficient to suppress the goosebumps that broke out all over her pale skin. It was a very clear night: the moon shone brilliantly over head and glittering stars dotted the sky.

"You know," shivered Yuzuki, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, "you're not that old yourself." It was true. Certainly there was a maturity to him, an utter lack of childishness, that endowed him with an air of authority and know-how well beyond his years; but he couldn't be more than thirty, if even that. Yuzuki waited for comment and, receiving none, drooped. It wasn't exactly her idea of fun conversing with her frightening captor, but it kept her mind off the rapidly plunging temperature and the depression she felt when she thought of home.

Just when she was about to resign herself to a night of coldness and mental solitude, Madara spoke, his voice devoid of any emotion: "I suppose twenty-six is quite young to have achieved what I've achieved..."

Twenty-six. So that answered her indirect query about Madara's age. Yuzuki looked at him curiously; he was sitting erect, arms crossed as usual, broad shoulders straight, head unbowed – but it was his eyes that arrested her attention. Madara's gaze was fixed on the fire but his eyes were so remote it was almost as if he were not seeing it, as if he were looking upon another world entirely. Flames danced in unseeing eyes, its light throwing ominous shadows across a drawn, unmoving face, creating lines that gave it an angular harshness.

The fifteen-year-old was transfixed. Suddenly, this fearsome shinobi whom she detested, this ruthless clan leader, seemed very old to her; not in appearance exactly, but in spirit. He looked – _tired_, so very tired, and so very world-weary.

For a moment, she almost felt sorry for him – a feeling which would have infuriated Madara had he been aware of it.

But then the moment passed, and his eyes came back from their distant place and the shadowy dimness receded, and there was once again that familiar visage of mocking arrogance. Yuzuki, sensing the change, immediately set about rearranging her face into more placid lines, for she knew her curiosity must be clearly visible and she did not want Madara to catch her gawking at him like a gigged frog.

"I may be young, but I am still your elder, _Yu-chan_," said Madara casually, the mood that had possessed him gone.

Yuzuki choked. Never, in a million years, had she expected her nickname to come out of this man's lips. It was her own precious token bestowed upon and used only by those most dearest to her! She remembered how gently and lovingly the endearment fell upon her ears in days past, remembered the faces of her loved ones as they called to her, and she thought she would cry. And this man had the consummate gall to sit there and besmirch the purity of this treasured thing by saying it in a nasty, implicative sort of way – implicative of what, she did not know, but it was most assuredly something offensive.

"How dare you!" began Yuzuki furiously; a combination of tense nerves and drained energy had already put her temper on edge, so her reaction was more than a little dramatic. "You have no right to use that name! You aren't my friend or my -" She stopped in some confusion.

"Lover?" finished Madara, one elegant eyebrow raised, face a careful blank. "Then I guess that boy you were protecting is your lover."

"_Hiro-kun and I are not lovers!_" she exclaimed shrilly, the level of her indignation making her jump up from her seat on the ground. Her fatigue was apparent in the dark circles under her eyes, and it obviously was affecting her judgment for she snapped: "I've never even _had_ a lover before!"

Oh!

All anger left her as abruptly as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. For a breathless instant, she stood paralyzed, stupefied at her own words; then a swift, prickly sense of shame swamped Yuzuki, and she clamped a hand to her mouth as if this gesture could somehow take back what was spoken. How could she have said something so common, so vulgarly direct? What was she thinking, loudly shouting personal information to this horrid man? What must he think of her now?

Yuzuki waited, cold with apprehension, for Madara to laugh at her, or at least smirk. But he did neither. Instead, he did something much worse: his black eyes went over her figure in one appraising glance that seemed to penetrate straight through her clothing. Yuzuki's cheeks turned crimson and her body temperature soared as a hot flush spread through her, displacing the chill of the night. Never before had she been looked at in such an exacting and disrespectful way.

"No," Madara said at last, in the manner of one who, after considering all the facts, has come to a satisfactory conclusion; "I suppose _you _haven't."

The girl's mouth popped open and she struggled for words, her irises brightening as they always did when some strong emotion was at work, color flooding her face. Madara watched her, amused, and thought she resembled a tomato or some other red fruit.

This Yuzuki child was exasperating and over dramatic – and yet...there was _something_ about her, something that could not be examined – a sort of insolent charm in those slightly tilting amber eyes framed by long, bristly black lashes, and in those little white shoulders squared defiantly, something that was new and exciting. What it was, Madara did not know; she had all the pride and ungainliness of her young age, and all the immaturity too – there was nothing remotely attractive about these qualities, and yet – well, maybe it had to do with the prophecy and the fact that she was the key to the survival or destruction of his clan – and of himself.

Yuzuki, meanwhile, managed to stutter out: "You know what? I've had enough of this conversation. It's quite vulgar," and she sat back down again with her arms and legs crossed, telegraphing that, as far as she was concerned, the discussion was at an end.

A hush fell over the two, and with nothing to distract Yuzuki, goosebumps broke out anew and she was forced to rub her arms again. 'This is going to be a long night,' she thought miserably, huddling closer to the fire. If this was how she was doomed to spend the rest of her life, cold and in misery, and with a man whom she hated and who cared nothing at all for her, how was she to survive? Her world was shattering into a thousand pieces and there was nothing she could do to stop it. How was she to stand it all?

The question brooded over her like a dark cloud threatening rain. Her spirits were abysmally low, but it was a different type of low than earlier when she had cried at the thought of never seeing her family again. This was the same mood that had assailed her the night before her abduction when she had been staring out of the bedroom window, thinking about shinobi and all the problems they caused and what kind of lives they must lead.

It was a capricious mood that sometimes stayed with her for weeks; a melancholy sadness where she was too weary and too depressed for tears or anger or anything else except feeling a vague oppressive sense of unhappiness.

Only this time, she could pinpoint legitimate reasons for it: she had been kidnapped. She was being held prisoner by the prince of darkness himself. He could kill her at any moment. She didn't know where they were going or what he wanted with her. And it was very cold outside and she had no blanket.

These were all very good reasons for feeling the way she was now. But even they could not fully explain the suffering which she was laboring under. She thought tiredly, 'If only I had a blanket I wouldn't be half as bad off.'

It was as if her wish were heard by a benevolent deity, for in the next second she felt scratchy wool material tossed carelessly over her skin, and looking up, she saw Madara staring down at her. He had done it again – snuck up on her without warning. And it had been he who had given her the blanket, definitely not a benevolent deity. She was so relieved to have something to cover herself with that she almost was on the verge of giving a heartfelt smile and thanks – and caught herself in time.

Madara had only executed the most basic act of courtesy, and _without_ courtesy at that. She didn't owe him a thanks for that. Why, he hadn't even said: "You look cold, Yuzuki-san, take this blanket," or "Here, this'll keep you warm"; not even a gruff "Can't have you freezing to death." He said none of the polite phrases one should say; rather, he simply crossed back and sat down again.

Yuzuki remained haughtily mute, communicating that she didn't care for the gesture at all, but then she reminded herself that she had done enough to get on Madara's bad side today; it was pertinent that she stop aggravating him (if she could call it that; nothing ever seemed to disturb the man) and allowing herself to be aggravated in turn. The only thing it did in the end was put her in a speechless temper accompanied by her captor's amused silences, and clearly, that was not helping her situation or her state of mind. It was time to change tactics.

"Thank you," she managed tartly, tugging the blanket tighter around her shivering form. The gratefulness she meant to convey was lost in the forcefulness of her voice, and she winced. Madara, however, either didn't notice or didn't care, for he said in his usual terse way as if she had never spoken: "Get some sleep. We have a long day a head of us."

"Where are we going?" Yuzuki asked. Then, not liking how the term "we" sounded, she rephrased her question: "Where are you taking me?"

"The Uchiha stronghold in the North."

"The Uchiha stronghold," Yuzuki repeated, and her voice was slurred. "Is that some sort of fortress? How long will it take to get there?" Her eyelids were two giant weights and when she blinked, it took some measure of exertion to open them back up again. When she opened her eyes, she saw two red orbs focused upon her.

"_Sleep._"

No consternation at the sight of blood-red irises disturbed Yuzuki; in fact, all thought and feeling except the urge to nuzzle her head upon the grass fled from her; Slowly, her head very muggy, she laid herself down, the wool blanket covering her completely, separating her body from the ground. The grass was as lush and as soft as a pillow, inviting her to close eyes, lulling her further into her partially artificially induced state of sleepiness.

Her mind was slippery, the inquiries she had voiced forgotten. She saw the embers of the wood-fire flickering at ground level, before the power of consciousness deserted her and the wings of cognitive process were clipped, and she plummeted headlong down till she touched the cushioned depths of deepest sleep.

* * *

It was very late now. For whatever reason, he could not sleep. Madara sighed through his nose and stood from his place by the dying fire. He raised his head and obsidian gems gleamed in the moonlight. The moon was full, its milky radiance spilled out on the whole forest, a forest deceptively still with the kind of stillness of night creatures prowling cautiously about. This scenery would soon change; the big leaf maples, hemlocks and red alders would be exchanged for pines and evergreens, and the air would be crisper and cooler the farther north they got.

_They_.

Madara glanced at the girl sleeping soundly on the ground. She was on her back, head turned slightly aside, and her braid was laid across her chest. Moving closer, Madara studied her features, highlighted by moonbeams: an even forehead; a small button nose, eyelashes so long they seemed to tangle, brushing against smooth cheeks. His eyes followed the curve of her cheeks downward where they landed on plump lips, parted ever so slightly to inhale and exhale steady breaths.

Such a young face; such an unworldly face, a face still round with the roundness of childhood. A face that had never seen evil before and would not recognize it if it did. When he'd carried her, she'd felt so light, like he was carrying a feather. Madara leaned over the girl and, almost without meaning to, stretched his hand out to touch her. Calloused ungloved fingers skimmed gently across the impossibly soft skin, then down over her chin, bypassing her creamy neck, to where her braid lay on her rising and falling chest. He fiddled with it. His actions held no trace of affection – only a strange fascination for this small girl lying in the moonlight. He found himself wondering what the girl would look like with her hair unsubdued. He could almost imagine her rich dark chocolate tresses fanned out about her like a halo. How would she look? Would she look even younger than she already was? Or would she look more like a woman? For a moment, his fingers tugged gently on the band holding her braid together as if to undo it.

Madara stiffened as he realized what he was doing, and promptly withdrew his hand, scowling. The Yuzuki girl certainly was a bother, he thought as he straightened. But she was his now, and his responsibility. It was imperative that he find out as much as he could about who and what she was – but not yet. He would wait until they got to the hideout, a much more secure location for such an important and private interrogation.

Yes. This was a private affair, and Madara intended to keep it that way, and to keep a close eye on her at all times. The sooner this matter was resolved, the better.

Raising his head once more to the sky, the clan leader sighed again. Next to the moon's brightness and the soft glow of Yuzuki's skin, the stars had lost their glitter.

* * *

**I don't want summer to end. Review if you concur. (Also, review if you don't.)**


	7. Chapter 6: Brave

**Author's Note: Hello! Sorry for this late update; you'll probably have to expect that more often from now on, because I'm busier than before. Anywho, thank you to all who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. Speaking of reviews, I'm going to take this opportunity to address an anonymous review made by the reviewer called River Fox and concurred with by another anonymous reviewer called Maneki Owl.**

**First of all, I'm really happy that you gave such a thorough review, River Fox, I enjoyed reading it! As for your constructive criticism I think I get what you're saying: you're saying that, in the last scene, I perhaps described Yuzuki through Madara's eyes in a way that made it seem like he found her attractive (at least, I think that's what you're saying), and since he was just observing her out of impersonal interest and not romantic interest, the choice of descriptions could give the wrong impression. **

**I can see how it could come off like that; I had mixed feelings about adding it myself. My intention with that the whole chapter was for it to be somewhat of an ice-breaker. They both saw each other in different ways. It wasn't meant to be so much of a turning point in their views towards each other as a subtle and unconscious shift in the character's mindset, that would grow and become more prominent later on. That was my intention with the last scene; Madara isn't attracted to Yuzuki, but he is unconsciously aware of her in a physical sense, and it was really meant more to emphasis that she looked young and untried in life. And you know how when you're very tired you sometimes look at things in different ways because all your usual feelings require energy you don't have? That was sort of how I pictured Madara. He was so friggin tired that his usual defenses were down and he was allowing his curiosity to get the better of him. But I guess I didn't succeed in conveying that. **

**Thanks for your input. It was really helpful. And guys, if you have constructive criticism to give, don't feel shy. I've got no problem taking it. On the other hand, I'm glad people enjoy my pacing and the fact that Madara is ten and a half years older than Yuzuki; I was afraid that people were going to have a problem with that. As it is, I think a more adult Madara is appropriate.**

**Enough of my rambling! On with the show! And please review. As much as I like having lots of people reading my story it sure would be nice to actually hear from you guys.**

**Big thanks to my beta chibi-onna1 for her edits and input.**

**Chapter 6**

**Brave**

* * *

"_Yu-chan, wait!"_

"_It's not my fault if you can't keep up."_

_She could see the heat in broiling waves and her throat was as parched and cracked as the dirt beneath her feet. Yuzuki tried to swallow and kept up her unrelenting jog, her geta sounding a dull "clack-clack." Kaeko, someways behind her, was struggling to catch up._

_They'd just given their mother the slip. Haruka and her three children had encountered Shizuko, a local artisan's wife, and her young daughter on their passage home from the central marketplace. Arms heavy with baskets of ingredients, Haruka nonetheless had politely stopped to exchange pleasantries with her neighbor; as the minutes ticked on, the words evolved from simple greetings into a regular tachibanashi – a roadside chat that could last for hours at a time. Yuzuki, who had been standing beside her mother, her two-year-old brother's hand clutching hers, gave the proper "Good evening" and a neat little bow. She was doomed to suffer in silence as the adults carried on their boring and tedious conversation, but she was not the only one: besides Shigeru, Kaeko and herself, Shizuko's daughter, Minami, was also forced to stand idly by. _

_Ginger of hair and green of eye, with a milky complexion, Minami was a mean, spiteful girl of nine, and she and Yuzuki hated each other cordially. Once, at the primary school that she and Minami attended – there was only one in Izumo – Minami had called Yuzuki loud and ugly – "like a boy," was the way she'd phrased it, and Yuzuki had never forgotten or forgiven this. The two had glared at each other for a while and then, growing bored of that too, they both wandered off into their own thoughts._

_It was one of those dry summer days where every ounce of moisture seemed to have evaporated into thin air, and Yuzuki was glad that at least the hottest part of it had passed – it was now getting on towards sunset. By the time her mother would stop talking, Yuzuki had thought, it would probably be nightfall and they would have to stumble back home in the dark. Detaching herself from her brother, Yuzuki spent a prolonged interval doing nothing but kicking around a large pebble she had found at the side of the road. She **had** to make her escape or she would go mad, she'd decided; and glancing slyly at her mother engrossed in conversation, she began to inch away slowly and casually at first, and when her mother took no notice and she was far enough away, she broke into a jolly run._

_She hadn't counted on Kaeko following her._

_Now they were trudging through tall grass at the outskirts of the forest, which lay still and dark in the encroaching twilight. There was a dramatic cut off of the light of the unshaded town from the darkness of the woods, almost like a tangible border between night and day. Yuzuki peered curiously through the trees from a safe distance, trying to decide whether or not to brave the dark unknown or stay in the light. There was something menacing in the towering trees and their thick trunks covered with assorted growth and their long spindly branches that crept outwards to her, beckoning her._

_She could hear Kaeko, breathless from running, drawing up behind her. Yuzuki wished Kaeko hadn't come: now she felt like she had to go into the forest. Yuzuki took a step forward._

"_Are you going in there, Yu-chan?"_

"_Yep," replied Yuzuki, without looking back._

_Kaeko's eyes went wide. "But you can't!"_

"_Why ever not?"_

"_Because there are forest demons in there and all sorts of -"_

"_Oh, 'demons,' phooey! Don't be such a ninny, Kaeko."_

_Yuzuki tromped through the grass, the coarse, yellow blades scratching against her legs. A small hand clutched her arm, and she was surprised to see that her younger sister was following her after all. Yuzuki observed her out of the corner of her eye. "I thought you weren't coming." Kaeko gulped and clutched her arm tighter, drawing herself closer. "Well," she said in her usual uncertain and nervous way, "if you're going in then I guess it won't be too bad." Yuzuki said nothing, and continued on until both were standing at the very edge of the woods. It lay before them, sinister and untamed, twilight making it all the more menacing._

_Yuzuki hesitated; the idea of entering the forest and being swallowed up by the darkness was not appealing to her; but equally unappealing was the possibility of looking like a coward in front of her little sister should she retreat. The nine-year-old took a deep and resolute breath. She had been through this area countless times before and had never encountered anything frightening before. Sure, there were wild animals in the forest, everybody knew that; but they tended to stay as far away from the village and its pesky humans as they could, and only very rarely did anyone have problems with the wild fauna. Yuzuki straightened and took another step, but when she did, she saw something long and shiny slither along the grass in front of her and she froze. It was a snake._

_Kaeko shrieked and buried her body into her older sister's. "A snake!" she wailed, her grip on Yuzuki's arm becoming unbearably tight. "See?! SEE?! I told you it was dangerous!"_

_But Yuzuki was not listening; she was looking at the snake, and every detail repulsed her: its long, flexible body, its shiny black and red scales, its tongue, forked and pink, darting out of its mouth making a soft hissing noise. It was nearly two feet in front of her now and it drew its head up and stared at her threateningly through slit pupils yellow in color._

_She stared back, entranced and frightened out of her wits, before she became aware of her sister's trembling body, her head ducked behind her shoulder and her pathetic whimpers of "A snake! A snake! Oh!"_

"_I heard you, I heard you!" Yuzuki snapped, suddenly irritated; it was annoying to be reminded of her own fears in the face of another's. "I can see that there's a snake. There's no need to fuss about it." She shook her little sister off and wrenched her arm from her grasp. "Be quiet and quit bawlin'!"_

_Kaeko raised her head from its stooped attitude. "But Yu-chan," she said incredulously, "aren't you afraid?"_

_The appearance of coolness came back to Yuzuki and she tossed her braid defiantly as her chin went up. "No, I'm not afraid." It was a lie, of course, but Kaeko didn't need to know that. "Don't worry, Kaeko, I've got this." Yuzuki glanced quickly at her sister. Her face was as stark white as a sheet cut out and framed against dark hair and her blue eyes were enormous. Kaeko was afraid enough for the both of them, thought Yuzuki, and she turned her attention back to the looming snake. It was her job to be the plucky one, to act strong and protect Kaeko. But how to be plucky when danger was staring you in the face?_

_Somewhere, in the deep recesses of her mind a distant memory rose, a phantom memory, a memory of words spoken softly and understandingly, in a warm voice: "Face your fears and look them in the eye or you will waste your whole life doing nothing but running away from them."_

_Yuzuki blinked, confused at this sudden recollection. Who had said that to her? The words hung on the very edge of her mind, the way a dream did when you first woke up from it before it fell over the metaphorical cliff and into nothingness. Who had said that to her? Yuzuki had no time to contemplate the question, for the snake moved its sinewy body even closer to the two girls, and Kaeko again buried her head into her shoulder. Yuzuki stiffened as she experienced a moment of sheer panic. What to do? Attack? Or retreat?_

"_Face your fears and look them in the eye..."_

_Face your fears and look them in the eye. Well, it was start. Besides, she couldn't run away now, not after all the bravado she'd made a point of displaying. Kaeko was counting on her and, greater than her fear of any snake, was her fear of looking like a coward. And she couldn't very well attack a snake. So, the young girl firmed her jaw and crossed her arms and glared back at the black-and-red creature, spreading her feet and planting them on the ground in what she hoped looked like an equally threatening stance to the snake's own. But although her outward appearance was of one who is unafraid, inside her heart was hammering and in turmoil. If the snake struck out, she would get bitten, no doubt. But this was all she felt she could do._

_'Calm down,' she thought desperately, 'calm down, it's probably more afraid of you than you are of it. Gosh, I never noticed how big snakes are. Then again, I've never been this close to one!' _

_A few tense moments passed where nothing happened, except the clashing of their very natures; human against animal, defiance against danger, amber against yellow. For a few moments there was no movement or sound, not even the soft hiss of the snake's forked tongue. Then slowly, deliberately, the snake lowered itself until it was lying completely flat on the ground, and turning its body in a smooth circle, began to glide away, into the forest. parting strands of grass as it went._

_Yuzuki let out a great whoosh of air that she didn't realize she'd been holding in and her muscles relaxed themselves as if a ton of rocks had been lifted from her shoulders. The ordeal was over. There was nothing to worry about and, now that she thought about it, the snake hadn't been that big after all. "Kaeko," she called, unable to keep the delight out of her voice, "it's alright now. It's gone." _

"_Eh?" Kaeko took her head from her shoulder and peered around her cautiously, confirming that the snake was indeed gone. Then she broke into a smile, and stepping back from her big sister, said admiringly: "Wow, Yu-chan, you did it!"_

"_Did what?"_

"_You scared that nasty ol' snake away."_

_No, she hadn't. Not really."Um -" began Yuzuki uncertainly, but she was interrupted._

"_You did, you did!" Kaeko sighed and leaned her head on Yuzuki's shoulder and smiled up at her. "You're so brave, Yu-chan, you're not afraid of anything."_

_Yuzuki frowned, at a loss as to what to say. She'd been afraid the entire time. And all she did really was stare the snake down until it slinked off and there was nothing so gallant or brave in that; maybe if she had wrestled the snake that would've been a different story... Yuzuki was confused. Didn't being brave mean being unafraid of anything? Willing to sacrifice your life? That's what she'd always been taught anyhow. Yuzuki knew that if the snake had attacked, she would have turned tail and ran rather than stand and fight, and this knowledge disquieted her. _

_'Well,' she thought helplessly, as she and her sister made their way back to the beaten path some distance away where their mother was waiting for them, 'maybe sometimes it's enough to just appear brave.'_

* * *

It was the distant chirping that woke her, and she squinted when the rays of sunlight, filtering through the gaps in the trees, burst across her vision, blinding her. In the first few moments of wakefulness, when the mind and senses are still cloudy with sleep, Yuzuki lay drowsy and content, without a worry in the world. She was a simple small-town girl waking up to another uneventful day in Izumo. She would get up and get dressed; have breakfast with her family; attend school and learn useless things; visit Hiro-kun; take a stroll in the forest; tease her siblings; read a book and wonder what was out there; and then, after all was said and done, she would climb back into bed and wait for the next day, when she would get up and do something else and more of the same too.

The pleasant illusion persisted for a short while. Then reality came crashing down about her. She wasn't in her room. What she was lying on was not her futon; it was too hard and too bumpy. And this wasn't Izumo. All around her were the sights and smells of the outdoors without a hint of the civilization she was used to. And she remembered: she had been kidnapped.

She sat up carefully, the blanket pooling around her hips, and her neck was cramped and her jaw felt like it was wired shut. She stretched, hearing the pops of her joints, and twisted about, working the kinks out of her body. Her eyesight became blotted by bright flashes of light as she felt the pleasurable rush of blood recirculating to her limbs and to her brain.

She had still not fully wakened, when Madara, looking large and terrifying, suddenly emerged from the trees. Yuzuki started. In her grogginess, she hadn't even noticed he was gone. He looked at her, and she felt the small jolt of alarm that always went through her when she was the focus of his intense gaze. Instinctively, she pulled the wool blanket so that it was covering her entire body again.

"Get up," commanded Madara, and there was no emotion in his voice. "We're leaving." Yuzuki gulped and obeyed, keeping the blanket around her, for the early morning was still chilly. He sounded like he meant business, like he was in no mood for her hot temper or pretenses. 'Maybe he didn't sleep well last night,' Yuzuki mused. She had slept well, surprisingly well considering her situation. Except for that dream...

Wait, was it a dream or a memory? No, it was a memory; she could recall the day it happened. Why would she dream about a memory? That never happened. Her dreams usually consisted of utter nonsense and babble set in an obscure place. But this dream had been as clear as crystal.

Yuzuki furrowed her brow in thought. Looking back in retrospect, the dream she had just had and the memory from her childhood, were slightly different when she compared them. In the dream version, there was that strange voice, so calm, so familiar, telling her to face her fears, while in the other, she recalled hearing no such advice. Now, what in the name of –

Her thoughts were abruptly severed when a waft of a strong, sharp, smell filled her nostrils, and she felt the blanket being lifted off her, exposing her to the morning coolness. Yuzuki's breath caught in her throat to see Madara standing next to her, stowing the scratchy wool into a slim pack.

He'd done it again. Snuck up on her unsuspectingly. Just _how _did he do that?

Yuzuki scowled and prepared to say something cutting about this uncharitable gesture, but she stopped herself when her eyes once again noted how tall and how much bigger than her he was, especially when standing so near. Yuzuki looked away and cleared her throat, remembering how last night, right before she had fallen asleep, that she had resolved to be more civil towards him from now on. Being determinedly defiant was hurting more than helping; after all, caterwauling at the man who kidnapped you was probably worse than acting like a cowering victim; and it only served to aggravate both parties. What had she gained by yelling at him? Nothing, except his contemptuous amusement and that hateful smirk. Yes, from now on she would try to talk to him more normally. She couldn't attack him verbally, physically or mentally – she knew she would lose – but she refused to retreat into fear either. The only option left was to attempt to approach him like one human being to another.

'He's like that snake,' she realized, startled. 'There's no point in lashing out, but if I run away, that won't accomplish anything; it'll just hurt me in the long run. But, maybe if I treat him like a reasonable person, he'll treat me like a reasonable person, and I can find out what he wants from me.'

Suddenly, finding out why Madara had stolen her, what he had planned for her, and who the Sage of the Five Paths was – or Six Paths or whatever – took on a fresh urgency. Her dream of home intensified her desire to return to it, made her heart ache with longing, especially for her mother, but also for her brother and her sister.

Before all this, Yuzuki was more inclined to view her siblings as nuisances to be put up with, than as cherished kinfolk to be lavished with love. Now that she was so far from her family, the thought of them brought only a pang of regret and worry, totally bereft of annoyance. What would they do without her? What would Shigeru do, Shigeru who was spoiled and so unused to doing things by himself since he was the youngest, Shigeru who spent his days with his head in the clouds? He was so idealistic, so unsophisticated, and if someone didn't anchor him to the ground with some common sense, he would just float away into the sky.

And what about Kaeko, so much more practical and meticulous than Shigeru, but so much more anxious and jumpy as well? Her flutterings had always annoyed Yuzuki unendurably, even while they spurred protective feelings to form. Poor, needy Kaeko. She sometimes wondered if her little sister didn't pick up some of her anxiety from their mother. They were alike in many respects.

Yuzuki sighed, and turning, met Madara's searching gaze. She flinched, taken aback by his attention to her. "What? What is it?" she questioned, her tone defensive. The fifteen-year-old felt like smacking herself; she _had_ to stop being so rude when she talked to this man.

Madara's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not reprove her. Instead, he allowed his gaze to sweep her form slowly from top to bottom. The action brought her up sharply and color mounted in her cheeks as she had an embarrassed sensation that her skirt was too short and her blouse too low in the front. He had done something similar last night, she remembered. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a second or two, obsidian gems locked back onto her face. "What is it you were thinking?" he asked. His voice was still monotone, but she could detect in it the faintest hint of curiosity, as if he genuinely wanted to know what was running through her mind.

Initial astonishment morphed into exasperation, and in a fit of long repressed emotion, she snapped: "Can't I at least have my thoughts to myself? What right do you have to invade my privacy? "

She knew she had made a mistake the moment the words left her mouth. Madara's face hardened, his eyes growing frigid; it was like a heavy cloak had swept over the atmosphere, dimming the morning light, silencing the chirping birds. Not once did Madara make any motion that could be construed as violent or aggressive – in fact, he hadn't moved from his cross-armed position at all – but Yuzuki could feel the abrupt change in mood as keenly as one feels an unexpected drop in temperature.

Madara's eyes found hers, pinned her to the spot. "_You_," pronounced the shinobi slowly, his voice dangerously low and final, "are in _my_ possession now. " He surveyed her piercingly. "I have every 'right' where you are concerned. Understand?" He was expecting an affirmative answer.

Yuzuki, castigated into silence, could only nod her assent. Her mouth had gone dry, rendering speech impossible, and her whole body was tense. This was the first time she had seen any hint of true anger from Madara, and she stood confirmed in thinking that he was not someone to tussle with when riled. There was a beat where nothing was said and the two stared at each other; it was like a stand-off between a rabbit and a snake, one too frightened and wary to move, waiting for the deadly blow to come, the other waiting for the right moment to move in for the kill. But at last, the frosty hostile look left Madara's eyes, his face growing remote and apathetic again.

'Goodness,' thought Yuzuki dazedly, once Madara had turned away, 'he certainly didn't sleep well last night, did he?'

* * *

They were off again like a shot, each absorbed in their own thoughts, Yuzuki considering how to best approach Madara on the reason for her abduction, and Madara going over the prophecy again in his mind, analyzing it for clues that he might have overlooked.

It was so very unsettling having to be held by Madara. Yesterday, she had been so shocked and aggrieved that she hadn't given it much thought, but now that she had had time to adjust somewhat to a situation she'd been so unwillingly thrust into, it bothered her; although this didn't officially count as an embrace, it was the closest thing she ever had to one with a man.

Affection between members of the opposite sex that was not performed strictly in private was severely frowned upon. No couple, young or old, married or engaged, ever held hands, hugged, caressed or kissed in public, nor were passionate words exchanged. No one ever did these things, unless it was a mother with her child. Relationships and feelings were things that were understood implicitly, so there was no need to express them explicitly; that would be improper and embarrassing and wholly unnecessary. Nobody liked a chatter-box.

"Silence is golden," was one of Hanukah's oft-repeated admonitions to her sometimes too garrulous daughter.

But right now, silence just felt awkward, was Yuzuki's opinion as Madara rushed through the denser and denser trees at top speed, jouncing her in his arms. But that wasn't the worst of it; oh, to be held by this man, this jerk of all people! This wasn't how she wanted her first embrace to be! For a brief moment, she considered the unfairness of it all; what had she done that was so bad that she deserved to be taken from her home in the middle of the night and subjected to this arrogant jerk's insufferable presence? What did he want from her?

Yuzuki looked up at Madara – she had a sudden impulse to cry out questions, but they died on her lips when she saw his face was set in harsh lines.

'Tomorrow,' she promised herself, 'tomorrow I'll ask all about his motives. But I'm pretty sure he isn't in the mood to talk about it now.' She shivered, remembering his bad humor from earlier in the morning, Even though he hadn't done anything to harm her, she did not want a repeat of the scene, and she harbored a suspicion that inquiries on why he kidnapped her would be met with a similar reaction.

Still, perhaps she could ask how long it would take to get to his stronghold. It was a neutral enough question, and she desperately wanted to know for she did not believe she could tolerate much more of this rough traveling.

Gathering her courage, Yuzuki cleared her throat and tried to speak but all that came out was an indistinct noise that sounded like "Um – ahem, hm." Madara glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his interest piqued. The girl's eyes were cast down and she looked as if she were struggling to put something complex into words. "Madara...san," she said at last, adding the honorific after a short pause, "if you don't mind my asking, how much longer until we reach your fortress?"

Madara was surprised at the note of docility in her voice; although he hadn't known her that long, he could tell from the time he'd spent with her that the teenager was far from docile.

"Two days," he replied succinctly.

"Oh." Yuzuki frowned at this. Two whole days? That didn't sound very appealing. Wasn't there some method that could speed up their progress? She didn't like the thought of having to spend two more days outdoors with no proper bedding or food especially when the air was getting cooler and crisper by the second.

Yuzuki groaned internally. How she yearned for a bath! She felt dirty after wearing the same clothes two days in a row and sleeping on the ground with nothing but a scratchy wool blanket for comfort, and she relished the chance to finally scrub off the collected griminess. She was a neat person by habit and a warm bath always raised her spirits. And her spirits were sure due for some raising.

Yuzuki's imaginings of a steaming hot bath were derailed when Madara made an abrupt downward leap from the tree branch to the forest floor, landing deftly on his feet, placing the girl beside him, freeing up his hands.

Yuzuki looked at him in some surprise. "What is it?" He did not answer her. His eyes were darting calculatingly to and fore and his mouth was set in a grim line. "Madara-san -"

"Hush," scolded Madara calmly. "We have company."

_What?_

'What does he mean by company?' Something in Madara's tone sent a wave of panic through her nerves. It wasn't that he sounded frightened – no, not in the least – just tense, alert and, to her bewilderment … excited.

What happened next happened so fast she didn't have time to process it. Madara's eyes bleed into an ominous crimson and he turned away from her. He said something, she didn't know what, then a muffled response seemed to come from the trees – then everything exploded into a cacophony of noise, dirt spraying up in front of her, knocking her off her feet, all breath leaving her body as her head impacted the unforgiving hardness of the earth.

Her last image before the darkness engulfed her in its merciful embrace was a fuzzy vision of a large, glowing skeletal-like thing that was safeguarding her on all sides like a protective cage.

And then – thank the heavens – nothing.

* * *

**This chapter was** **ugh,**** but things pick up next chapter.**


	8. Chapter 7: In the Lair of the Enemy

**Author's Note: Hey, guys, sorry for the belated update, but there's been so much going on (Halloween, my Birthday, Election Day), plus my laptop has been having problems: I got a virus claiming that it was the FBI and that they had detected illegally downloaded material on my computer, requiring me to make a payment of 200 dollars within a 48-hour limit or face federal charges. I got rid of it but there have been a whole host of other issues as well. **

**Anyway, thank you to those who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. Really. It really puts a smile on my face to know that people are reading my story. I know a lot didn't happen last chapter, and that the pacing may be off-putting at times, but I hope you bear with me. The characterizations are going to get deeper. This chapter is starting a new, and I think, more exciting phase in the story and it's reintroducing another character. **

**Please review. I ask for so little, except that you tell me your honest opinion.**

**On with the show! **

**Thank you chibi-onna1 for editing this and pointing things out.**

**Chapter 7**

**In the Lair of the Enemy**

* * *

Madara could not muster up an ounce of sympathy for the girl sprawled out on the ground unconscious. The only thing he felt was a minor annoyance for the inconvenience her unconscious state presented to him, and worry that if she was seriously injured, his key to the tidings of the prophecy would somehow be permanently handicapped. But it looked like that would not be the case, he noted as he examined her, feeling the small clotted bump on her head. It was a concussion, nothing too serious, certainly not dire.

The shinobi surveyed her with the same clinical and impersonal attention one pays to a piece of cargo. He hadn't expected her to pass out. But she was a mere civilian and so was unused to the clashes of battle. He'd been quick to react, but it looked like the force of the trembling earth itself was responsible for her head injury; if she had been directly hit by the enemy justu, she would have been dead, for she would have had no defense with which to protect herself.

Luckily for her, she had him and Susanoo.

Madara side-glanced at the black flames that were quickly devouring the limp corpse some feet away. He did not intend to leave any traces behind. Even after a thorough search, which resulted only in the finding of several standard weapons, Madara still did not know who their attacker was, a fact which disturbed him greatly. The man was in his early twenties by the looks of it, and his long, narrow face, and his plain nondescript clothing gave no clue as to what clan he might have belonged to – if indeed, he belonged to a clan at all. Perhaps he was a rogue shinobi without allegiance to any particular clan that lent himself out for hire.

More and more common were these types of shinobi, ones who had no family background, who served no familial purpose or creed, but instead wandered about like nomads with no particular aims in life except the individual acquisition of power and money. An odious type of shinobi, in Madara's opinion: directionless, self-serving, useless.

Though if he was such a man, that did not automatically mean that he was not acting on someone else's behalf. He could have very well been hired by a third party for the purpose of assassinating him. Assassinations by other clans, through either its own members or hired hands, were common in the shinobi world, although clans usually preferred to use their one their own to carry out the job than to solicit a stranger. It was better to keep such important tasks within the family.

The all-encompassing effect of day-to-day fighting in the life of every shinobi often lent a personal significance to each battle, to each struggle against a foe; there was always someone out for revenge, for victory against a worthy opponent, or for some kind of gain to further the interests of their clan. There was a certain intimacy that one felt when engaging their enemy, an intimacy heightened by a deep respect for the other's abilities, and infused by an almost equally deep hatred and desire to win. It was a curious mixture of loathing and admiration that made up the best fights.

It was how Madara felt when he was facing Hashirama. It was not how he felt when he had fought_ this_ man.

Madara looked down at the burning corpse contemptuously. There had been no excitement or challenge; he had fallen in less than a minute after revealing himself. He had not been a worthy opponent. If a clan or political faction had accosted the man to get rid of him, they had made a shoddy choice of assassin. A pity, since Madara had been hoping to relieve some of the tension of the past few days.

Madara bent to pick up Yuzuki, his powerful muscles hardly straining as he scooped her up, carefully cradling her head in the crook of his arm. He looked at her and a slight frown settled upon his face. It was difficult to believe that this little girl, lying helpless in his arms, was the same person who had been putting him on edge.

In the short duration of their time together, Madara was both irritated and amused by the girl's temper, and what he thought were her elaborate shows of bravery. On the outset, he'd been hoping to find a compliant victim, a soft mind and easy manner that would make investigation into what he wanted simple. And indeed, for all appearances, that's what he got; but for all her smallness, for all her youth and seeming softness of appearance, the girl was about as compliant as a scalded cat. He hadn't tried her yet, he was holding off on that until they were in more secure grounds, but he knew now, just as their first meeting had presaged, when she had stood up to him in defense of her friend, her eyes meeting his stare for stare, that she was of much tougher mettle than she looked. And much smarter too, despite her temper.

There were several times Madara had noticed Yuzuki's face contorting in the pouty scowl that preceded one of her small explosions then, as she was tittering on the edge of speech, seemed to think better of insults and remained silent. At those moments, he could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she began calculating more careful responses.

A wise choice, Madara thought, shifting the light weight of the girl and beginning a fast pace forward. She was beginning to catch on: being upset with him wasn't going to help her, and she seemed to know it, so now she was changing her method of approach. She'd even addressed him as "Madara-san," which amused him, for he knew it must have taken a great effort on her part to be so polite.

She was adapting.

Suddenly a small quiet moan was wrenched from the bundle in his arms, and he quickened his pace. He would have to hurry. She was hurt and needed attention, and although Madara made it his business to know a little bit of everything, including the healing of injuries and other such things, he much preferred an established medic to take a look at the girl's wounds. They would be coming to a spot soon that would allow him to transport almost directly to the fort.

* * *

Yuzuki awoke with a sickening sense of dread, a dread she had taken with her when she had hit the ground. She was stiff and achy all over, and her head throbbed tenderly when she touched it. When she breathed she became aware of how sore her back felt. Her eyes, blurry with sleep, stared at the ceiling and she was dimly aware of her weight resting on something soft, the first soft thing that had touched her skin in days. A ceiling, softness – a bed – wait! If there was a ceiling and a bed then she must be indoors.

Yuzuki's eyes slowly swept her surroundings. Yes, she was in a room, a cool room, with no windows that was in semi-gloom. It was small and it seemed to close in around her. The panic she had felt upon wakening dissolved.

She was no longer in danger, it appeared. And surprisingly, no emotion stirred. She was too tired and too hurt to really care. She should have cared; she was finally out of the woods, away from that Madara-man, maybe even rescued. But no emotion stirred. Her heart was silent and dull in her chest. It was as if after the first burst of feeling, all sensation and thought had fled.

She lay there in the quiet gloom for an undetermined length of time, and during that time no thoughts passed through her tired mind. When she tried to think, her head would begin to pound and she would fall back into mindlessness. She wished she could go back to unconsciousness and escape the niggling of pain that was spread throughout her bruised body. She would have welcomed it.

After a hazy while, she heard a door slide open, disturbing the dark stillness, heard footsteps padding toward her, and there came into her line of vision a face which she recognized but could not immediately place. The room was dark enough that it took a moment for the person's features to form themselves from the solid wall of their outline. The only light was from a small paper lantern situated on a small table beside the bed. When she was finally able to see his face – it was definitely a he – she stared at him, not taking him in at first: the long hair tied back, bangs parted, hanging loosely around an elegant face with fetching angles and a firm mouth pressed into a straight worried line.

Then she remembered him: he was one of that Madara-man's lackeys. So she wasn't free after all. Well, there goes one dream.

"You're awake."

The words fell obstreperously and discordantly upon her ears, and she winced as fresh wave of achy pain rippled through her head.

"Can you sit up?"

Another ripple of pain. Yuzuki groaned and covered her ears. "Must you talk so loudly?"

In fact, the man had spoken in a voice no louder than normal, but when he replied it was with a soft, stoic apology: "I'm sorry. I did not mean to. Can you sit up, miss?"

The hazy pain was still besieging her head, but at the word "miss" it began to dissipate. She was a little startled to hear herself addressed so politely after what seemed like forever of being referred to as "girl."

Yuzuki managed to pull her body into an upright position with the assistance of the nice man, who propped up her pillow against the headboard so that she could rest her sore back upon it. The bed was raised high off the ground, the long sheets dangling off the sides. She had never slept in one of these types of beds before, and it seemed so high she was afraid that she would fall off. Yuzuki clutched the sheets tightly as sudden nausea swept through her and another small dart of pain entered her head. The man's voice, now distant but intrusive, was asking her a question, and Yuzuki, her mind thrown into a temporary confusion by the pain, snapped sharply: "Cut out that racket, Shigeru!"

A small silence followed in which Yuzuki realized her mistake.

"Oh!" She looked up at the man apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I -" The man stared back at the troubled girl with a blank yet somehow kindly expression as she proceeded to stumble into an explanation. "I don't know why I called you Shigeru," Yuzuki giggled nervously. "I guess it's because he's always raising hell wherever he goes, and making noise and -"

She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. "N-not – not that you're like that! I mean that wasn't what you were doing at all, it – I just meant – um..."

Yuzuki's voice trailed off into nothing. Pink-cheeked from embarrassment, she dropped her eyes to the sheet that was covering her legs and began to fiddle with it, wishing fervently that she could disappear. What was wrong with her? 'I must be more out of sorts than I thought,' she fretted, 'to mistaken this man for Shigeru. They look nothing alike.'

Suddenly, a light chuckle cut across the awkward silence. Yuzuki looked up at the man in wonderment. "Don't worry, miss, I understood what you meant." The man smiled down at her, a smile that was kind and mirthful but restrained. "My name is Hikaku – Uchiha Hikaku."

She said, "Oh," for lack of any better response, but it sufficed. It did not occur to her that she should introduce herself in turn. Her head was still fuzzy with confusion, still trying to return to a state of normalcy, and the nausea was still present, lingering unpleasantly in the pit of her stomach.

Hikaku retrieved a chair that had been stationed in a corner of the room and placed it alongside her bed. "And you miss," he said, seating himself on the chair, "do you know who you are?"

"Of course I know who I am," replied Yuzuki, befuddled.

"Can you please tell me your name, then?"

Yuzuki hesitated, but he asked so nicely she acquiesced. "My name is Oshima Yuzuki."

"How old are you, Oshima-san?"

"I'm fifteen – nearly sixteen."

"And where are you from?"

"I am from a village called Izumo." When she spoke the name of her hometown, Yuzuki remembered just who she was talking to: this was an Uchiha shinobi. He reported directly to Madara. She sat up straighter and crossed her arms and added haughtily: "You should know that. Your leader is the one who kidnapped me, and destroyed part of my town's property."

Hikaku's expression shifted into something colder and sterner. "That is neither here nor there," he said in a clipped, terse manner that made it clear that he would not tolerate criticism of his superior. "What I am concerned about is whether or not you are in possession of all your faculties. It seems that your memory is fine."

He rose from his chair and reached out with both hands for Yuzuki's head. On instinct she jerked back from his advances, colliding her bruised body with the hardness of the headboard, releasing a grunt of pain.

"Please," said Hikaku calmly, retracting his hands slightly, "I need to check if you're alright."

Yuzuki took a moment to search his face, and, seeing the truth written there, she reluctantly allowed him to take her head in his hands. She felt the shock of human contact as his warm hands cupped her head, his fingers pressing delicately here and there, his low voice murmuring each time: "Does that hurt?" and her responses sometimes in the negative, sometimes in the affirmative. It struck her how odd the situation was: here was a strange man touching and massaging her tousled hair with the greatest care imaginable, and he was a shinobi. What's more, he had been party to her abduction and had done nothing to intercede on her behalf. But he was showing her the first real kindness and consideration she'd received since the beginning of her predicament, and she was in desperate need of kindness and consideration. So she let him poke and prod without objection. If it were Madara conducting the examination, she would rather have bitten both his hands before letting him touch her.

When he was finished, Hikaku withdrew his hands and gave a small, reassuring smile. "You had a nasty concussion and severe bruising on your back, Oshima-san, but our medics have fixed you up pretty well. There still might be some pain left over; you'll just have to wait that out, I'm afraid."

He paused to give Yuzuki time to absorb this information. "Your clothes should be washed and dried by now. Can I get you anything in the meantime?" he asked.

Yuzuki mouth pulled into puzzled frown. What was he talking about? She was wearing her clothes right now. Yuzuki glanced down at the upper half of her body which was uncovered, and her eyes widened at the sudden realization the outfit she was wearing was not her own.

Her white blouse and skirt had been replaced with a thin yukata that was so loose on her the collar nearly drooped off her shoulder. Grabbing the two long sides of the collar with clenched fists and shutting them tightly over the exposed skin, an awful thought came to her.

What if – oh, horror of horrors! – what if Madara had changed her clothes?

Yuzuki's already dry throat went even drier. The idea that Madara or perhaps some other man had seen her in the nude while she was unconscious and defenseless was almost too much to be borne. But these people, after all, were shinobi, and there was no proper standard with which to judge them by: they were capable of every wickedness. Just what wickedness that was, Yuzuki did not rightly know; she was too innocent and naïve for her imagination to carry her any further than the _idea_ of such a scene being wicked, but the idea alone was enough to make her sick at her stomach.

'No, no, no,' she recited mentally, hoping that if she told herself enough times, it would make the possibility untrue. ' No, not that, never that!' She tried to wipe the thought from her mind but it prodded at her cruelly. What if he had undressed her? She looked up at Hikaku, and her tongue made clumsy attempts at forming the question, but she could not find a delicate way of phrasing such an embarrassing inquiry.

It took Hikaku a moment to correctly interpret the reason behind her panicked-stricken face, but when he did, he made swift answer: "One of our female medics changed your clothes. She's having them cleaned right now."

The monstrous terror that possessed the young girl loosened its grip, and her face visibly relaxed. She could not be sure whether Hikaku was telling the truth, but at the same time she could detect no deceit. Of course he could be lying for his benefit or for her own but it was much nicer to think that he wasn't; it spared her the agony of humiliation. Besides, no other choice was available to her than to take his word for it.

"Oh," she said awkwardly, "...right." She began fidgeting with the blanket again and smiled up at him shyly, sweetly, through her lashes – a nervous reaction to an uncomfortable situation, but also one done out of genuine gratitude. He had treated her so gently and with a respectful deference that disarmed her. It felt like forever since she'd last graced someone with a smile.

To her interest, a peculiar, almost shocked look flitted across the shinobi's handsome features, but it was gone before she could analyze it. He quickly fell back into the polite and reserved facade he'd maintained throughout the whole interview, and repeated without returning her smile: "Can I get you anything?"

Yuzuki's smile faded and she cleared her throat before replying in a neat voice: "Yes. Uh, some water, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Hikaku stood up at once and headed briskly for the door. When he reached it he glanced back at her and his face lost some of its remoteness. "I'll be back terrectly, Oshima-san," he commented gently and then was gone.

* * *

When Hikaku made his exit, Yuzuki settled back against the soft pillow and her thoughts attempted to fill the silence left in his wake. The Hikaku man was so much nicer than she'd expected, almost gentlemanly given the circumstances, and he had acted with the courtesy and friendliness befitting a dignified host. And to think he was related to that boor, Madara!

A chill entered her heart then. That's right: Madara was Hikaku's relative, his leader, the man whom he followed and to whom he reported. She couldn't trust him no matter how sympathetic and good-humored he appeared, for in all likelihood he would monopolize whatever trust she accorded him for Madara's advantage.

The revelation sunk Yuzuki's spirits abominably low. How depressing to finally receive some kindness from a person only to realize that that person was in actuality the enemy but with a different face and first name! How unfair! But what could she do? She wanted so very much to trust in him, for it would be a relief to lean on someone else; her abduction had been a sore trial, and she wanted a kind somebody to help her carry the burden by sympathizing with her, but he was a ninja after all, and ninja by their very trade were sneaky – or at least that's what she'd been informed.

Normally, Yuzuki had enough sense and self-will to not blindly believe everything that she was told and, to the ever-lasting fury of her mother and other sundry figures, she had long since made a habit of forming her own opinions, sometimes outspokenly. Perhaps she did so in part because, for reasons she didn't quite understand herself, she took a perverse pleasure in the distress her contrariness caused her mother.

Mother.

Yuzuki drooped miserably against the soft pillow. 'If Okaa-san were here, she'd know what to do,' she brooded. 'She'd take care of me, take care of everything.'

In a sudden epiphany of self-knowledge that made her spine stiffen, Yuzuki saw, as for the first time, just how much she truly depended upon her mother. Her mother, with the notable exception of her father's early death and times when she was too busy, had always been there to calm her fears with soothing words and wise actions, to deal with the many aspects of life that Yuzuki, in her youth and insolence, could not and did not know how to handle, whether it was preparing meals, buying clothes, repairing torn ones, or paying taxes. Oshima Haruka, as strict and insufferable as she was, brought stability and order to her children's lives, and Yuzuki was just now realizing it.

When she thought about this, a strange emotion dragged at her heart making it feel swollen and heavy, but before she could identify it, Hikaku reentered the room noiselessly, carrying in one hand a very tall glass of water and in the other a pitcher for refills which he set on the small raised table. He passed the glass to her politely using both hands and with a small inclination of his head.

"Thank you," said Yuzuki enthusiastically, her thoughts diverted; and, in spite of her apprehensions regarding him, she smiled. Yuzuki lifted the cup to her lips and tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the cool liquid slid down her throat. So thirsty was she and so much pleasure did she derive from slaking it, that she did not notice the small trickle of water that escaped at the edge of her mouth, gliding in a smooth stream down her white neck, topping the barely visible swell of her breasts before disappearing into the confines of her yukata. She did not notice Hikaku's eyes, entranced, following the wet trail, nor the awkward clearing of his throat or the sudden aversion of his gaze as he caught himself.

Draining the last of the water with a satisfied slurp, Yuzuki dashed her hand across her mouth, and set the glass, now empty of its contents, on the tabletop. Hikaku cleared his throat once more to attract her attention.

"Oshima-san, I'm afraid I have some business to attend to," he confided rapidly; "I'll be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Meanwhile, there is bathroom here for your convenience" – he gestured toward a wooden door on the far side of the room – "and while I am away I must ask you not to leave this room; understand?"

Yuzuki, in a split second decision, choose not to argue with this request and nodded as meekly as her pride would allow. Although Hikaku's voice had none of the inborn authority that Madara's had, she could sense the seriousness behind his words.

"Good." Hikaku went silent for a moment then asked, "Is there anything else you need, that I might get for you before I leave?"

She thought quickly. "Yes: do you have any books that I could read?" If she was going to be stuck in here for hours on end alone, she wanted something to keep her from the madness of boredom.

"Ah." Hikaku peered down at her with the sort of gentle understanding that a father gives when preparing to let down a hopeful child. "We do, but none that would interest you, I'm sorry to say."

* * *

He left her, and for the next several hours or so, she tried as best as she could to occupy herself. She explored her surroundings in very little time for there was not much to see. The furnishings were sparse; the bathroom small, containing in it only a toilet and a sink which she used to clean her face, then patted dry with a towel.

The dreaded tedium began to set in. At first, she paced about the room, the fuzzy ache in her head having departed a great deal, and in its place came a bout of energy; after monotonous pattering on restless feet, she returned to the high bed and burrowed herself under the covers, trying and failing, to appreciate its cushiony contours; this was not _her _bed. This was not _her _room. It did not look the same, smell the same, or feel the same. _Her_ room was filled with a golden warmth, with a soft comfort and rosy-coloring that only a home well-loved and well-worn could possess.

Home! thought Yuzuki. Home, with its long avenues of voluminous trees quivering in the light of the sun, the beautiful fragrance of life newly sprung, and the lovely vision of pink that must be blooming on the thick, stretching branches of sakura trees. Yuzuki felt sick inside. She wouldn't get to see the sakura trees in all their glory, and she might never see another one. Would she ever view the outdoors again? Or would she be stuck in this small, airless room forever?

Hunger gnawed viciously at her stomach then, and Yuzuki wondered bitterly why she hadn't had enough sense to ask Hikaku for food before he left. Moreover, she was grimy and dirty – or at least the result of sleeping outdoors for a couple of days brought the illusion of dirtiness and griminess. She wanted a bath badly. If she only took one, it would scrub away not only the dirt, but some of the hurt and bewilderment in her soul that was preventing her from thinking and planning with any clear logic. Baths almost always improved her mood and helped reestablish lucidity to her brain. She would ask Hikaku to take her to the baths as soon as he came back.

Finally, after a prolonged period, the door opened once more; she raised her head, the question immediately on her lips.

"Hikaku-sa – Oh, it's you."

Yuzuki pulled the covers up to her nose, peeking over them owlishly at the dark figure reposed in the doorway. Hostility and dislike reared in her breast. "What do _you_ want?" she inquired sourly.

Madara said nothing right away, but stepped in with the languid grace of a panther, standing with his arms crossed over a broad chest. The atmosphere of the room cooled as his presence filled it, making the domestic interior seem tinier than it was and a trifle bit fussy.

"That's no way to greet your savior," he scolded lightly, ebony eyes on her.

Yuzuki crinkled her brow in annoyance. She could not tell if he was in earnest or not, for his voice was without inflection of any kind. As he approached nearer the bed, she clutched more tightly to the tops of the covers, holding them as if they were some adequate means of protection and could bring her safety. She always felt slightly unsafe when she was with Madara.

Madara placed himself on the chair next to her, the attitude of his body unchanging as he scrutinized her. The fifteen-year-old did her utmost to return his look unwaveringly, but she could feel the throb of a headache creeping upon her again. Madara's deep voice boomed, low, reverberating.

"Shigeru. Who is he?"

Yuzuki's heart leaped and her thoughts raced at the sound of her brother's name. Why was he talking about Shigeru? Where had he heard –

Then it dawned on her. Hikaku. That rat must have reported to Madara that she had mentioned a person named Shigeru. To think she had liked that man. 'And now,' concluded Yuzuki grimly, 'he's going to interrogate me about it.'

Quickly deliberating that lying was not the best option (he would probably see through it in an instant anyway), she replied quietly: "He's my little brother."

"Your brother." A thoughtful look entered Madara's eyes, making them alight with sudden interest. "I see. Do you love your brother?"

Yuzuki's eyebrows shot so far up her forehead they seem to disappear into her hairline, and a funny incredulous noise escaped her mouth, which she hastily covered with a cough. The oddity of the question not withstanding, the word "love" coming from Madara seemed so foreign, so unnatural, it swamped her mind in a muddle of disbelief and bemusement. Why would he ask such a thing? Yuzuki's curious eyes sought his, and she saw that he was expecting a prompt answer.

"Well, yes," she responded cautiously, unable to gauge his motive, "of course I love him."

Madara looked at her so steadily, his eyes narrowing, that she became rather alarmed – then his gaze lost its keen interest and grew clouded and remote as he lost himself in memory. "Good," he said, more to himself than anyone, leaning back in the chair and staring distantly at the wall opposite him. "Little brothers should be cherished."

They sat in silence, and in that silence Yuzuki had the queerest feeling: it was as if she was alone in the room, as if Madara was not here at all but had traveled some place far away; like a curtain seperated them, a curtain that obscured his presence, even as it had once filled the room, making him seem older and wearier than he was. His body was here but his spirit was quite absent. Yuzuki looked at him, baffled; it was that same ghostly detachment she'd witnessed the night they had sat warming themselves by the campfire.

And just like that night, the remoteness was banished swiftly and everything returned to as it was. Madara stood and looked toward her with his old hauteur. "Get up," he ordered briskly. The change in demeanor was so abrupt that Yuzuki was having trouble readjusting to it. She did not respond fast enough. Madara reached over, and with one yank, tore the sheets from her grip. At the shock of cool air hitting her immobile body, the young girl's mind clicked back into place.

"Hey!"

"I said 'get up.'"

Yuzuki rose hastily, her arms covering her chest. If only this yukata wasn't so thin, she would not feel so exposed. "There's no need to ripe me out of bed," she grumbled, eyes on the floor, then raising them and seeing Madara opening the door, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"I am taking you to the baths." He paused and glanced back at her. "You need one," he added carelessly.

It was such forthright rudeness, that Yuzuki was thrown into silent fury. She'd almost forgotten what a jerk he was.

She cast about for some remark as insulting as his but could find none, settling instead on a wordless glare that she hoped conveyed to him all her hate. It seemed to work for she glimpsed a small smirk on his face before he turned from her and strode out of the room, with the transparent expectation that she would follow.

Which she did.

* * *

**I know, I know, terrible stopping point, but it was getting long (the longest yet). I apologize to anyone who thought there was going to be a battle scene. I don't think I could write one even if I wanted to. **

**Please Review. **


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: And I'm back! It's taken a little longer than I expected, but didn't I say that updates would be slower? Well, anywho, thank you, thank you, thank you to all those who reviewed/favored/alerted this story (and those who added me to two communities). I must say, it's a little weird hearing the word 'talented' applied to you. Not bad or anything, just...weird.** **This certainly isn't the best fic in the world, but thanks for the compliment. Now, I got an anonymous review from a person calling themselves Ironic. In it, I am lambasted for a review I left for another story that is very popular and well-written, and accused basically of flaming, Mary Sue-ism and being pretentious. Since it is anonymous, I have no choice but to put up my response here (sorry guys). **

**First of all, I think it's sad that you had to do this in the form of an anonymous review; it comes off as a tad bit cowardly; furthermore, I find it rather immature that you targeted my story when clearly your purpose was to simply confront me about a review I wrote for a different one that you love. What I did was not in anyway what you have done. I did not attack the author for arbitrary and personal reasons. I did not attack her at all: I gave her my honest reasons for leaving her story and why, even while calling her talented and gifted, and I retain my right to do that. We have corresponded with each other before about her story and I have offered up valid points, just as I did in my review. I was explaining, ultimately, my reasons for abandoning her story, which she deserved to hear, since I had said I would give her honest reviews.**

**The fact that my opinion isn't the same as those of other readers does not make it scathing nor does that mean I am doing it for the sake of being a "contrariat." It just means that I've got a mind of my own and I am not afraid to say my opinions, even if it isn't the popular opinion. Her style of writing did not jive with my tastes after all, and I told her why. How that is mean-spirited, how that amounts to me liking the sound of my own voice, I don't know (you might as well say that to any person who has an opinion) – I did no name-calling, I made no unreasonable comments, and if you had read my review (or my profile, for that matter) you would see that – but it seems to me that you see only what you want to see. The fact that you came here bent on savaging me for a _constructive_ critique that I gave (didn't I detail what I thought was wrong with the story and why?) and to charge me with going after a story (or stories) because it had a lot of reviews is your own baseless assumption dredged up by a self-delusional, fan-girl sense of righteous anger. It's a little creepy that you'd take the time to do it at all. So climb off your high horse, cause you're the one who is sounding rude. Now, _that's _irony.**

**As for what you say about my story, OC and profile, I cannot take it seriously. You seem to have come here with your mind already made up to take me down a peg or two, so you lack credibility – not to mention logic. By the way, don't respond to this in a review. _If _you are reading this and _if _you chose to respond, do it in a PM, the proper way. Thank you, and goodbye.**

**To my actual readers, please enjoy this chapter, that has some interesting stuff, and please review. I'd love to hear from you. On with the show!**

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Any hope of mapping the layout of the Uchiha fortification for future escape plans was crushed the moment captor and captive set out to their destination. Yuzuki had never been in a building such as this: the passageways seemed to wind with labyrinthian intricacy, the walls solid and blank, the ceiling dizzyingly high, so much so that at every turn they made, in every corridor that they trodded, it felt to her that they had simply circled around to the exact same spot they had passed before. It was disorienting. There was a musty stale odor that gave the cool, dimly lit surroundings an old and slightly haggard feel, like they had been constructed in darker, more ancient times. Yuzuki shivered. _This_ was where she was going to be kept?

The two reached a steep staircase, and as they climbed it, Yuzuki saw with some dawning comprehension the Uchiha crest emblazoned on the ascending wall to her left. She was assuming that it was Madara's family crest; she could see the same design printed on the back of Madara's black shirt and her brain was speedily making the connection.

When they got to the top of the stairwell, the air became clearer and brighter, the atmosphere less dank and dungeon-like than the level below it. They proceeded forth through more winding unadorned halls until they came upon another staircase. Up, up, up they went until they were at the apex and a strangely incongruous sight greeted Yuzuki – a stone wall.

Eh?

The young girl blinked confusedly, and just when she opened her mouth to ask Madara why they were confronted with a wall of all things at the top of a staircase, said man lay flat his palm on the bare stone which at his touch began to glow in an ominous pattern of red; Yuzuki flinched back, her foot landing haphazardly on the step below, gasping as the unyielding surface gave way, seemingly disintegrating from Madara's palm in the center outward until there was nothing left but the frame of the door opening onto an outdoor porch bathed in daylight, and a picture of tree groves in the distance.

The light grated harshly on Yuzuki's eyes, by then accustomed to the dim flame-lit darkness, and she held her arm up to fend off the blinding beams. Madara started forward and Yuzuki followed suit, glad about being able to breathe clean refreshing air again. She followed the man in front of her and she hardly took in the towering building which they were now traveling on the outskirts of, the piney scent of tall, furry trees, or the dirt landscape that ran alongside the veranda, leading off into various directions. She didn't even pay any attention to the men who were fighting in the dirt courtyard except to direct a quick glance at them as they ceased their training to bow and greet their leader with quiet murmurs as he passed, so eager was she at the prospect of a long hot soak.

A bath! A bath! Yuzuki's heart rejoiced; even the reality of being trapped in the lair of her enemy did not dampen her happiness. A bath would make her feel better, help gather her thoughts, and that was all that mattered.

After an interval in which she and Madara entered through sliding doors into the inside of the building and after period of shuffling through corridors, they finally arrived at the desired point. Vapors carried out of the entrance to the baths, coiled and clustered, moving like a beckoning hand before dissolving in the cool drafty air.

As the warm fumes hit her, Yuzuki felt a small pain afflict her behind her eyes, causing her to wince. She put the tips of her fingers to her temples and massaged them, trying to relieve the tension that had suddenly gathered there. Though her mind was keen and alert, her body remained in convalescent mode, and it protested to what it perceived as the unnecessary exertion the short trip to the baths had forced it to enact.

"You have fifteen minutes," Madara informed her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, sounding detached and disinterested like he'd rather be somewhere else, "and not a second more."

A few seconds ticked by in which Yuzuki failed to act; she stood with her head down, rubbing her face and bracing herself with one hand against the doorway to the baths, not trusting herself to move forward for fear of falling down. When the pain had departed enough, she looked up and met with genuine surprise the fierce and daunting glare of Madara's two coal-black eyes latched onto her. Now what had she done?

"Well?" he clipped with uncharacteristic impatience. "What are you waiting for? Don't you want to bathe? Or do you want me to go in there and wash you myself?"

Yuzuki's face, and it seemed to her the rest of her body too, went tomato red at the coarse suggestion, embarrassment sweeping through her like a furious surf before anger punctured it; she knew he could not be serious – that he was just impatient for her to be on her way – and it was with a mixture of annoyance at his lack of consideration and outraged modesty that she cried: "Of course I don't! Don't be stupid, Madara!"

And then her jaw dropped and her expression fell into one of horror as she realized the insult she had uttered. She had called him stupid. She had addressed him with no honorific. Him, a shinobi, a clan leader, a warrior who could kill her with his bare hands, a man whom she knew with instinctive certainty had done such things before.

In their short period of acquaintance, he had yet to truly harm her – times she'd been spontaneously knocked out notwithstanding – but she also knew how quickly that could change: the danger was there, lurking under the surface of calm indifference, and now it looked like she had just potentially poked the sleeping monster awake.

Madara did not straighten from his lax position against the wall nor did his face alter one centimeter in its marble immobile visage. His eyes stared out at her from under hooded lids, dark and inscrutable. "Come here," he commanded in a soft murmur that sent chills crawling down her back. A cold pit of fear snowballed in her belly, but in spite of it, her mind screamed at her to stay where she was, to not endanger herself by going any closer to him, and she stubbornly dug her heels into the ground, intent on disobedience.

"_Come here. __**Now.**__" _The low murmur became a sinister rasp, full of cruel promise if met with any further resistance.

Yuzuki obeyed.

As she approached him, dragging her feet to draw out her steps, hunching like a wary animal, her stony face masking without much success the inner fear that turmoiled her brain, she thought vehemently that she had never hated Madara more than she did now, when he was intimidating and ordering her about; she'd never hated anyone so much in her whole life.

There were brief periods when she believed she hated Izumo as a whole, where she felt she just didn't belong there and was meant for bigger things; even times when Yuzuki was certain she held loathing for her mother and her family – usually in one of those fits of violent emotions that sometimes attacked her. But she knew now that that was nothing: this was true hate and it was an ugly and unpleasant emotion to bear.

When she reached him, the little dark-haired teen stood glum and glaring at the ground; then, summoning her courage, she raised her eyes to his. He stared back at her, stolid, eyes perfect pools of still black in a dark forest, revealing nothing of their contents to the outer world. She was being submerged in that blackness. Her breath left her, her lips parted.

A dash of red, a rock of ruby and onyx.

Yuzuki blinked. _What the –_

Something had flashed in her mind – a mental picture or other, but before she could process it, two large hands descended upon her, imprisoning her shoulders in an unshakable grip. They lay idle for a moment or two as if taking note of the shape of the delicate bones beneath them, before spinning her around in a fast fluid motion that caused her braid to whip her across her face. And then those large talons were digging into her, marching her bathward to the hot steamy entrance, forcing her to move with their immeasurable strength.

"Fifteen minutes," Madara hissed in her ear, before sending her headlong through the doorway.

"And not a second more."

'Intolerable little brat,' sneered Madara to himself. He stared coldly after the girl tripping out of sight. Normally a patient man, here was one area where Madara was finding it difficult to be patient. The girl (as he insisted on referring to Yuzuki) was rousing in him volatile energies long kept dormant by years of training and by natural disposition. He had met many people in his life, had battled and killed many more, but this was the first time he had really had contact with a non-shinobi. That is, had gotten to know, in a sense of the word, a civilian on a somewhat personal level.

Not that he hadn't dealt with civilians before; on the contrary, he constantly did business with people of decidedly _ordinary_ backgrounds, from the wealthy aristocrat that hired protection for safe passage, to the slyly ambitious politician plotting to sabotage and eliminate any competition, right down to the less powerful groups that schemed and dreamed of money and class.

But this experience with the girl differed from the rest of them in that it had nothing to do with business or fighting, but was nonetheless of great importance. It was a voyage he was embarking on blind for the most part, unsure of what he would find – if he found anything at all that is. Things were being made no easier by the girl's assertiveness.

The way she acted... He knew she was afraid of him, but it was a fear that more resembled a naughty child's fright of an angry parent than that of the otherworldy terror that worked such havoc on the nerves of his enemies and others who interacted with him. As if he were no more than just another authority figure from the village bossing around a girl who did not want to be bossed around and let that fact be known by sulks and pouts and other displays of moody nonsense.

But no matter. No matter; he would have what he wanted and do what he must to obtain it.

* * *

After nearly splitting her forehead on the wooden floor, Yuzuki, huffing with indignation and still racked with the lingering tremors of fright, called out timidly if anyone else was in there and from the changing area (the room was fashioned like a sento – a communal bath) peeked her head into the tiled bathing room. Nothing, except a boiling pot of water awaiting its host. It was not an outdoor bath, thank heavens.

Yuzuki stripped off the yukata, undid her braid, grabbed an oblong wash cloth and went hastily to the low-hanging shower head, remembering Madara's threat: "Fifteen minutes and not a second more." Seated on a little wooden bench, she vigorously applied the soap and towel to every centimeter of bare skin (she was careful with her bruised back though), scrubbing with particular menace her shoulders that had but a couple of minutes ago been enmeshed in Madara's hot grip. She then tousled her hair with the shampoo provided and doused her body in cold water with a bucket to rinse off once and for all the summation of all that scrubbing, and she rose, shivering, and headed to the bath. She did not fully immerse herself right away, electing instead to wade with the water up to her shoulders.

Once the water smoothed, Yuzuki stared at her reflection, and what she saw was an anxious face, young, bewildered, peering back at her appealingly as if waiting for dictation, for someone it loved and trusted to direct its next steps, as someone always had. Oshima Yuzuki had always had someone telling her what to do and how to do it. Now, she had no one but her not even sixteen-year-old self to rely on and advise her.

But the face reflected was too sheltered and too ignorant to give answers to the many questions she had: Why had she been kidnapped by a shinobi? What did he want with her? Where was his home located? How far from Izumo was it? How was her family coping? Had Katsuhiro recovered from his injuries? Did Madara plan on hurting her, even killing her? Where was he going to put her? Oh, and most of all, what should she _do_?

It was too much to bear and a lump of emotion formed in her throat that could not be ignored. Try as she might to comfort herself with the thought that her whole village was probably organizing search parties for her benefit, the reality was that she was on her own – entirely on her own. The reflection in the water became blurred as the lump spilled out into tears that she swiped at fiercely. 'Now, you stop that,' she scolded, frustration at her weakness adding to her general distress. 'Enjoy this while you can, for you don't have long.'

Yuzuki forced the tense muscles to relax and smoothed her face of its worried frown. It worked: once she had relaxed, she found renewed joy at the steam filling stale lungs, at the calm state generated by the embracing heat. She tilted her slick wet head back, lips emitting a grateful sigh; gradually her mind was wiped blank of thoughts, worries scattering away like orange-red leaves in the autumn wind. Here, in the purifying waters, the heart was purged of its misdeeds, the skin detoxified of its pungent human odor, the cells loosened and expanded welcomingly. The warm water of the bath was mingling with the waters of her soul, carrying her out of time, place, and circumstances; slowly dissolving as she lost herself to an old memory, to a forgotten life...

* * *

_The day is warm._

_The great god winks down benevolently in a sky dripping sapphire. Lush blades of grass sway in a gentle ripple, and trees give vent to a soft susurrus as the flowing air moves around them, sprinkling and scattering the sunlight across the wild yard. There's a low hum where bees kiss their darling flowers, a riffle of dirt and leaves from under a shrub were critters scuttle about and where larger mammals stick their noses when tracking the delicious path of food. The thick gorgeous scent of untrimmed jasmine merges with the voluptuous aroma of silky roses and the bitter green of crushed thyme, springing from the friendly bosom of the earth._

_Everything is moist and moving and alive. _

_Nothing demonstrates this more than the tinkle of laughter that enlivens the air as two boys tumble about, each pushing and wrestling the body of the other. Their dwelling in the background is a small thatched structure, half-hidden except for a porch by long tangles of vegetation. On it sits a man and that man is thinking. In one corner of the garden, shaded by an adolescent maple, a little girl stands, hands clasped behind her back, excluded from the play._

_A squeal of pain and surprise, a wincing child. One of the boys had been too rough in his handlings, and the other is angry, so angry, that he begins to shout, and all at once clouds begin to gather and whirl and the bees vanish and the flowers droop and the fine glow goes out of the day like a lamp being smothered. And in its place rises a destructive, demonic flame._

_The man is on them in an instant, trying to sort it out, a game gone disastrously wrong, and the little girl's mouth moves and she starts forward, only to be rebuffed harshly by first one of the boys then more gently by the grown man. _

_The color drains from everything and the sun is blotted out by a rapidly darkening sky, and the shouting escalates into a ringing shrill that pierces the atmosphere as unmistakably as a crack of thunder. _

_And in this quickly evolving disorder, is a confused girl-child who isn't saying anything. _

* * *

Yuzuki came up sputtering, flapping her arms like an agitated pigeon, sending miniature waves crashing into the sides of the tub. Her sealed eyes were shut from the revolving world, and for a disjointed moment, she concentrated on regaining her breath, inhaling and exhaling noisily, jerking her head in short cadenced motions to rid it of the rivulets of water that poured down and clogged the senses upon resurfacing.

Finally, her breathing returned to normal, and the water settled as she ceased the frantic flapping movements. Yuzuki opened her eyes and stared, thoughts muddled, at the tiled wall opposite to her. Steam had caused beads of water to collect on its white surface and slip down it like sweat. She pushed a clinging strand of hair from her face, and she noted vaguely that despite the tropical heat of her setting, her hands felt cold and clammy to the touch.

Yuzuki gripped the side of the bath as if it were an anchor to reality. Thoughts spun chaotically, bouncing up and down, back and forth. Just then...had she been dreaming? She didn't even recall the exact moment she had slipped underwater, just as one cannot recall that exact time of departure from the realm of consciousness into sleep; and yet, it seems that's where she'd been, that's where she had come up from after waking from that – that...

It couldn't be a dream. That was impossible, for she had not been asleep. Had she? No, people didn't fall asleep in bath tubs. People passed out if they stayed in too long, but that was different. And Yuzuki had never fainted from overheating before. She had felt perfectly awake and alert beforehand, so she knew that it was neither drowsiness nor faintness that she'd succumbed to.

Yuzuki squeezed her eyes shut, and behind her lids, attempted to conjure up images that were already fading alarmingly fast. The facial features of those hallucinatory figures were obfuscated now as she was sure they had not been during the actual experience. She remembered the vision in only bits and pieces and in broad descriptions: glittering sunlight, laughing children – Yuzuki searched her memory for greater details, but the images were slipping away, as if they were nothing more than parts of a dream half-remembered, leaving her with only the vaguest outline and a lingering sense of confusion and anguish. Was she going insane?

A sound stirred her from the depths of moody rumination, and her heart started in terror when she heard a voice speak.

"It is time for you to get out."

Nothing had ever startled her so much, and she caught the rectangular rim of the bath in breathless surprise. Standing in the doorway to the left was a young woman. At first, Yuzuki did not notice or process anything other than the fact that she was female. She'd thought, for a heart-stopping second, that it had been Madara who had spoken. A vast relief came over her as she noted the feminine voice and figure, relief that vanished when she realized that this woman was still a potential danger – no doubt one of Madara's near kinswoman sent to retrieve her.

Standing with her arms akimbo, the young woman stared at Yuzuki stonily; she was strikingly beautiful,with long, straight black hair falling past her collarbone, not a strand out of place, skin moonlit pale, and features elegant. "Get out," she repeated briskly, jerking her head to emphasize her words. Her eyes were as hard as black granite and so reminded Yuzuki of Madara, that she had to resist the strong urge to make a face and stick out her tongue.

* * *

Yuzuki's clothes were folded neatly in the changing room. The white blouse with short puffed sleeves and blue skirt never looked as beautiful and inviting as they did now, and she picked them up happily with trembling hands and pressed her nose into the smooth cotton material, searching for odorous traces of home, before rubbing her cheek on them gratefully like a cat.

Here was something that belonged completely to her, a link to the old days, back when the village of Izumo had been a sleepy, quiet place, undisturbed by the goings-on of distant lands and foreign people, back when a good citizen could walk the streets without the looming threat of an exploding building, of encountering dangerous strangers that indulged in murder and kidnapping; back when Yuzuki had inevitably, if unknowingly, shared in the comfortable lethargy of her townspeople, and had aligned their rather narrow view of the world with hers, in spite of her behavior or opinions that on the surface at least ran contrary to theirs.

She dressed quickly, for the woman, who had given her name as "Ikuyo," was waiting outside for her and seemed rather impatient for them to be on their way. The bath had not been as refreshing as Yuzuki had hoped for, and she was left with a displeasing sense of emptiness. But she was clean and she was again wearing familiar clothes and that gave her something to be cheery about. After a quick rebraiding – Yuzuki did not like for her hair to be down, particularly when she was in unsure situations, for it made her feel oddly vulnerable – she joined Ikuyo outside the bath, and with a gruff "Follow me," they began a brisk pace through the long hall.

In that small era of travel, there was not a peep out of the beauty named Ikuyo, not even an attempt at vapid small talk, and Yuzuki did not begrudge her for it. She did not want to talk to her either. She wanted to think in silence and solitude about that nasty little vision that had ruined her bath and nearly caused her to drown.

In the minutes that had elapsed since then, only a very unfocused and blurry picture remained of the scene, of which she felt, rather than saw, the warm colors and pleasing smells of that shimmering garden play-ground; she could recall also the abrupt turning of the atmosphere, from blue-sky bliss to stormy gray ferocity, but that was it.

Yuzuki, eyes wandering, happened to glance up just as the two unwilling companions arrived at a heavy, ornately decorated door. They were in an unusually wide hallway now, and the doors were so huge and intimidating, that they seemed to her more like the entrance to a forbidden temple. The two knobs were huge round things, hanging from the mouths of snarling long-whiskered dragons. It was one of those types of doors that pulled open, instead of slide.

With an effortless tug that astounded Yuzuki, for her arms were ostensibly womanly, Ikuyo opened the the left panel of the door, and ushered her in with another small jerk of her head as if to say: "Well, go on."

Yuzuki gulped and peered into the darkened room. She could make out very little, though she got the sense, from the slight draft wafting out, that it must be a rather large area. Feeling the eyes of her escort burning into her, she stepped forward, slowly, one foot at a time, across the sinister threshold. Once she was inside the room she could dimly make out the spaciousness of the place, could feel the airy coolness penetrate through her blouse and tickle her skin.

The door behind her shut with such a loud snap, she jumped.

She was alone in the dark now. She shivered.

Without the light from the outer hall, it took her eyes a while to adjust to the sudden gloom she'd been enclosed in, and for several scary moments, she could see nothing. A primal sort of fear crept up on her, lightly tracing its fingers along her skin, raising goosebumps. Yuzuki wrapped her arms about her in a protective gesture.

In that cool space of blind nothing, there returned to her the old childish fear of the dark, the immature terror that stalked youngsters the world over, that made them go running to their mothers, and bury their heads in an understanding lap and receive soothing assurance that nothing was waiting in the darkness to drag them away.

Yuzuki, nerves taut with suspense, waited alone for light to re-illuminate the surroundings. Eventually, it did, two lanterns on each side of the room giving off a dim glow of orange and throwing into relief on the wall facing her a large painting that covered just about the entire length and height of the high-vaulted room. It was so big and so full of vivid illustrations that she could not readily ascertain what it was depicting. She had to take several steps back in order to take it all in.

It was a bold painting, replete with many figures dressed in armor not dissimilar to the type she had seen Madara wear. Some of these men – she assumed they were all men, masculine in outline with black hair, Uchihas probably – had their hands and fingers folded into unintelligible shapes, others shooting jets of highly stylized fire out of their mouths, others still wielding swords in elegant arcs.

But that was only half of it.

The scene was gruesome: other men in billowing black cloaks, clearly a different set of people, shrieked in agony as swords pierced their chests, as flames consumed their writhing bodies. Some of these cloaked men were shown to be holding their own against their fire-spitting opponents, but mostly what Yuzuki saw in the eyes of those men was fear and defeat – defeat by the wrath of red-eyed men in hefty suits of armor. Those red eyes...

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Yuzuki's heart hit the roof of her sternum and, spinning about wildly at the voice, she saw a tall forbidding figure detaching itself from the far shadows of the corner of the room. The light slanted on him slowly – first feet, then legs, then torso with crossed arms, then shoulders, and then finally the marble face and riotous black mane. "This painting commemorates 'The Battle of Shinoda Fortress.'"

"The what?" croaked Yuzuki, dumbfounded.

"This fortification," Madara elaborated, his gaze fastened upon her, "did not always belong to the Uchiha. It was built and maintained by another clan called the Shinoda. The Uchiha won it from them over a hundred years ago." He looked at the painting. "Now that battle is immortalized."

Yuzuki did not say anything, but blinked disconcertingly at Madara then at the mural. So that's what it was. She had concluded by herself that it was a battle scene, but she hadn't known the identity of the defeated party. The Shinoda.

"It was a bloody fight," continued Madara, still looking at the artwork. "It took place over a three day siege, and many lives were lost. The Shinoda clan was known for their lethal utilization of poisonous gases and substances, as well as for their skills of concealment. They had no Kekkei Genkai, but they had an enormous repertoire of jutsus that made them difficult adversaries to overcome. But we won in the end, and this place has been operated by us ever since."

Yuzuki listened to his narration and skimmed the mural, with its dancing flames and cringing violence, and a thought popped into her head when he finished, one so monumental as to eclipse any curiosity at the unfamiliar phrase "Kekkei Genkai," or wonderment at the fact that this was the most he had ever spoken to her. Her hands grew damp with perspiration and she clenched and unclenched them; she cleared her throat three times and tried to speak, and each time she failed.

"And the Shinoda" – Yuzuki found her tongue at last – "what happened to them?"

Madara's black eyes slit to her and his lip curled. He knew exactly what she was feeling.

"They were slaughtered. The whole lot of them. They are no more," he stated bluntly and shrugged.

Yuzuki's expression did not change, but her complexion went a ghastly white, and a sickening sensation hit her as brutally as a blow to the gut. She'd thought as much. But to hear her suspicions confirmed out loud made them duly hideous. And the way he said it – it was as if he was saying: "Of course they had been killed. What did you expect?" like it was a normal, everyday thing.

"And it wasn't just the able-bodied men either," Madara continued, and he began to walk toward her; "But the women and the children, the young and the old too. Everyone. Completely eliminated. You see, it was decided by the patriarch of the Uchiha at the time, that since the Shinoda were such a...troublesome bunch, that they should not be allowed to walk upon this green earth any longer; so the word went out: 'Kill all Shinoda, be they ninja or not.'"

There was a calculating, dangerous quality in Madara's slow-moving advance: he was a god descending a staircase from the heavens, he was a monstrous parody of a cat on the prowl. He seemed to take some deep satisfaction in her paralyzed expression of disgusted disbelief as he described to her the crimes of his ancestors.

"There were no specifications on how to dispose of them, only that it had to be done. Well, why not get a little creative then?"

What he was saying incomprehensible to her. His usually clipped, bland tone had taken on a sadistic, almost eager edge. Madara stopped just a pace or two in front of her, and peered into the horror-struck face of his spell-bound captive.

"We quartered some of them and strung their ripped body parts up for all to see," he said, as if he relished the violence – as if he had actually been there. "Others we had our young trainees use as target practice. Others still we just executed summarily in view of their families. The women were impaled and the children had their heads bashed in. It was several days of screaming, pleading, and torture. It reeked of insides. And the world never forgot. No one would ever forget what the Uchiha were capable of."

In truth, Madara was greatly exaggerating the events; according to all accounts the execution of the Shinoda clan had been swift and relatively painless. There were some reports of torture being inflicting on those who resisted their fate, but otherwise it was a smooth operation. But his goal was not to disclose the truth. It was to terrorize this girl by telling her what the real world was like. He took in the pale skin, the long-lashed amber eyes shining with fright, the lips which were parted, the chin that quivered, and he felt pleasure at the sight, knowing he had succeeded. His hand reached out and cupped her cheek, tilting her towards him.

"Now that," he muttered, "is a nice face."

Yuzuki was petrified. It seemed to her that she had actually witnessed the slaughter herself, that she could visualize it, despite having never seen an act of violence in all her life. She was pulled back to the present only when Madara's eyes closed and reopened. Irises that held hell-fire in them, black as night spinning tomoe. She remembered those eyes. Her blood turned to ice-water in her veins, and she began backing away, making futile warding-off gestures with her hands. "No," she whimpered, "no, please no."

But it was too late: she was caught in his web and as soon as he willed it, she ceased her retreat and her arms fell loosely by her sides. The tense face was wiped blank and sagged despondently. She was under his complete control. A cast of a simple genjutsu and he could delve inside her for hints of what made her special.

She fell gracelessly to the floor the moment the fog cleared, gasping, a-whir with dizziness. Yuzuki swallowed the bile that was climbing in her throat; her arms supporting her upper-half wobbled as if in an earthquake. She looked up."What did you _do_?!"

From where she was, she could see Madara in profile, and his countenance was stern and frowning as if disappointed. He appeared to be deep in thought and not to have heard her, eyes cast contemplatively on the ground.

Yuzuki managed to stagger to her feet. "What did you do?! she repeated, and when she received no answer for her pains, the enervated dam of feeling that had been straining for days broke.

He had done something to her. Something unspeakably bad. Disgust at the equivocal violation contorted her face into a mask of red hot hatred, and she began to scream at him. Rage at this newest injustice dealt by him, rage at the injustice of the world, lent her voice a strength and recklessness that her current state wouldn't have normally permitted, and all the sensibility that heretofore she had been so careful to cultivate fell away as easily and quickly as ice melting in the sun. She wasn't thinking about self-preservation anymore: her tongue had been possessed by the devil and there was no stopping it. That she was not in her right senses was apparent.

She screamed at him. Her whole body shook wildly from head to toe, and her hair started to slip out of her braid untidily. She accused him of every crime she could think of – kidnapping, stealing, murder and much more. She spat with voluble vehemence the foulest epithets in an impressive string of such uninhibited zeal, that Madara turned to her with eyes slightly widened at the unexpected violence. 'Good,' she thought savagely, noticing his astonishment. 'Good. I've got his attention.'

Yuzuki became aware, through the jumbled mess in her brain, that she was crying too: big frustrated tears that oozed out over her face and added to the exhibition of madness that Madara was seeing. And finally, after exhausting every curse word she had ever had the guilty delight of knowing, she sank to the ground, sobbing brokenly, feeling more than ever helpless and out of control and humiliated to boot.

Madara watched the girl with disdain. He hadn't predicted her going off like that, and he hated being surprised by things he couldn't predict. Besides, he had always had the distinct impression that, although excitable, Yuzuki had common sense and would know better than to waste energy on something as useless as a temper tantrum.

'She must've been holding it in,' he thought, and looking down on this sobbing, broken child, a fleeting jab of something like guilt stabbed at him. This was a fifteen-year-old innocent whom he was depriving of freedom, who was crying over and over again in a hoarse whisper for her mother. Madara's jaw tightened and his fist clenched at the bitter sensation. And then, thankfully, the feeling passed and he was apathetic again.

"Hn," he closed his eyes and turned, heading for the door. "I guess he was right. We'll just have to wait and see."

And ignoring the tear-filled, confused eyes that he knew were upon him, he left.

* * *

**How did this chapter get So. Freakin'. Long? I'm sorry about that. Hopefully, the next one will be shorter. Poor Yuzuki, losing her marbles like that. Well, there you go, tell me what you think. Unfortunately, I will not be updating until after the Holidays (btw, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year everyone). Next chapter will be life with the Uchihas. I'm looking forward to it: more drama and more interactions.**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Been wondering where I've been? Sorry, guys, besides the distractions of the holidays, I've started school, and then I was out sick for a couple weeks and couldn't even type. Then, just when I got better, my computer got a nasty virus - I mean really bad. I had to take it in for repairs. All my data was salvaged on a USB luckily, though my computer is still out of commission. Then it was kind of hard getting back into the swing of writing. I'm really sorry its taken this long, but in my defense I did say I would update sometime**_** after**_** the Holidays. :D As usual, thank you to those who have reviewed/favored/alerted this story. It's great to see that I'm reaching new readers all the time.**

**Hey, Ironic/Bertina, you've only proven me right! Congrats! And you're still a coward. Just so you know, none of the three authors that you mentioned appreciate what you're doing. In fact, they think you're a bit of a nutcase. Touting a piece of fanfiction like it's some Flawless Achievement of the Imagination is just pathetic, because it's not, not even close. This ain't Ernest Hemingway. This ain't Jane Austen. This is fanfiction. That is all.**

**Everyone else, I do hope you review and let me know what you are thinking. I'd love to hear something from of you silent readers out there.**

**I forgot to say this last time but thanks to chibi-onna1 for editing this!**

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Yuzuki had always been a little bit of hoyden, and in a small town where those who said anything other than what was expected ran the risk of full exclusion, she had raised quite a few eyebrows from time to time.

She was lucky in that her mother was a well-respected widow and had long won the sympathy of all the townspeople by acting as the acme of heroic feminine suffering, as was required of a widow disadvantaged with three young children and no male provider. Everyone in Izumo admired Haruka for her quiet dignity and frugality, and for the even, pracitcal quality that allowed her to adequately raise three children and manage a household by herself.

But most of all, she was tough without unsexing herself, she was smart without being proud, and she was brave without being bold. She was, as Yuzuki would have put it bitterly, what everyone expected her to be, kind and modest, the hallmarks of femininity.

It was her mother's spotless reputation that had saved Yuzuki on numerous occasions when her perspicacious and honest tongue got the better of her. She could recall one incident that had taken place at the beginning of last summer, at the start of an afternoon that was a prelude to the arrival of those heat-shimmering days that characterized the summer weather of Izumo. She and Katsuhiro were sitting in the shade of a large maple on the outskirts of town, chatting quietly, while she leaned on her hands, legs spread out carelessly before her, feet bare from having discarded her shoes some time ago.

She was wriggling her toes happily when they were approached by Tanaka Daitaro, the headman of the village, who had been strolling along the secluded area accompanied by a woman called Ichiume decked in a beautiful summer kimono. It was an open secret that Ichiume was the headman's mistress, and Yuzuki and Katsuhiro were surprised when, spotting them from afar, the brilliantly clad woman clapped her hands in delight and, tugging the sleeve of her master, hurried over to greet them.

Both teens were thrown by the unusual sight of a man and his mistress openly consorting together in public and, as the two friends fumbled for a safe topic of conversation, Ichiume slit them a conspiratorial smile and asked slyly if the two young "lovers" met here regularly for their "trysts."

"No," replied Yuzuki bluntly, miffed at the teasing, "do you and Tanaka-sama, or do you just wait until his wife is out of the house and do it there?"

She may have said more, but she could not remember now. She did remember Katsuhiro gawking at her though.

That little comment cost her dearly. Somehow, word spread that Oshima-san's (Yes, _that_ Oshima-san!) eldest daughter had insulted the village leader, had made a very disparaging (and very accurate) remark or two about Tanaka-sama's private life. It was a sleepy town where nothing much happened, and the gossip-starved citizens seized upon this chance as an outlet for their energies, sharpened and lethalized by an actual note-worthy event, even though that event was small. And through the distorting filter of indirect oral retelling and personal embellishment mistaken as truth, that small incident was turned into a monumental one.

To the outward eye, it might have seemed as if the girl had committed a serious felony. But it was really only due to sheer boredom that Izumo's residence carried on the way they did; that, and the fact that the headman and his mistress had been involved, giving the whole thing a slight tinge of scandal, however imagined.

It had been Haruka who rescued her from the cold shoulders and the malicious gossiping, using apologies and pleas as her main tool. And the townspeople admired and respected Haruka so much that they forgave her wayward daughter. It was puzzling though. How a stately widow like Oshima Haruka could be related to a tactless chit like Yuzuki was a mystery; she must be an ungrateful sort of daughter, was the village's conclusion, for it was evident that Haruka did her best to raise her daughter right.

Despite occasional breaks in her temper such as the aforementioned, Yuzuki had long since developed an acute understanding of the dual nature of the heart: of the outer appearance which conforms and the inner self which questions. And she knew that to be a functional member of society, the latter had to be sublimated. Those who thought Yuzuki a fool couldn't have been farther from correct. Yuzuki was no fool, and never had been.

She knew that, although it was a trying task, it was not acceptable to be oneself. No, what was most important was that you acted demure and empty-headed and amenable and most of all you never, ever said what you really thought. You had to mold yourself and let yourself be molded to fit established expectations no matter how silly those expectations were. That's how one got on in the world. And it wasn't such a bad philosophy. It certainly seemed to work for most people. This would be the tactic that Yuzuki would use with the Uchiha.

In her first few days with the clan, Yuzuki spent a great deal of time deciding on what sort of method she would take. She knew she was potentially setting the tone for her whole captivity and it was with this knowledge that she chose carefully her course of silence and observation. She came to this decision not too long after her little "break down."

It had been Hikaku who, eventually appearing, escorted her from that terrible high-vaulted room. He was so kind the entire time, letting her cry, patting her cautiously on the back before helping her up off the floor, then traveling along in respectful silence, and finally depositing her with a sympathetic expression at a small bedroom.

It was not so much because of Hikaku's niceness that she decided to behave submissively, although it might have contributed to it. More of it was due to a pragmatic sense that she could not fight this, at least, not in an aggressive way, and that it was more prudent a course to tread softly. There was as well certain curious parallels that she drew between her old life, pre-kidnapping, and her current situation, parallels that would become more readily apparent once she began interacting with the rest of the Uchiha clan.

The first few days though, were spent in relative solitude, which was both relieving and maddening. Yuzuki was happy that she was not being made to deal with other Uchiha so soon after her arrival. Her heart was too hurt and her mind still too jumbled for her to take on the added burden of being in the presence of so many strangers. She was still afraid and tired by her ordeal, and the solitude, punctuated only by Ikuyo or Hikaku delivering meals, gave her the space she needed to collect herself and think.

At the same time she could not stand being cooped up indoors for so long, particularly since little to no recreational options were available to her. The room she inhabited was not the same one that she had woken up in, but like it, it was small and airless and windowless and had a toilet attached. Plus, the lighting was poor, creating a a dungeon-like dreariness that hung oppressively over her, and the solitude she had cherished at first soon began to feel like imprisonment.

She'd been expecting to be locked up, but this was so much worse than she had imagined! The frustration was so acute that she couldn't even be thankful for the decent conditions in which she was being kept – a livable room, soft bedding, clean clothes, nourishing food and water.

If only she had something to do! She needed the outdoors, she needed sunshine and fresh air and sounds and people, and, for two whole days, this was denied her. Yuzuki was a very energetic person, constantly moving around, fiddling with things, exasperating her mother with her complete inability to sit still for even the shortest periods, so having her physical freedom curtailed like this was like a nightmare come true. Moreover, it depressed her, occupying a foreign bedroom with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Hikaku was nice enough but he was often in a hurry and could spare only a moment to ask her how she was getting on, and Ikuyo made a point of not talking to her.

Finally, after two days of building agitation, Hikaku informed her that the ban was lifted. She did not know who authorized it, though it was safe to suspect that it was Madara's doing. She did not know why either: Madara had been entirely removed from her presence during her confinement. When she asked Hikaku, he had replied with a non-committal shrug.

Her most immediate desire was to be taken outside and, to her surprise, Hikaku said that he could grant it so long as she didn't stray from him.

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now."

A smile tugged at his mouth when he beheld the look of childish excitement blossoming on Yuzuki's face. The poor thing. She didn't deserve what was being done to her. Hikaku was in the dark about what his leader wanted the young girl for. His unquestionable commitment to Madara's authority prevented him from inquiring, but it did not prevent him from feeling sympathetic towards her.

He signaled for her to follow, and she bounced off so enthusiastically that she was the one leading instead of him, and Hikaku was forced to quicken his step so he could cut in front of her. Being here for only a few days during which she was restricted to a single room, Yuzuki would have no idea how to navigate her way around. It had been deputed to him to guide the little waif. How long that job would last, was anyone's guess.

Not that he really minded. In fact, he frequently found himself enjoying his brief interactions with Yuzuki (albeit unwillingly). The reason why eluded him. He was a proud Uchiha, like any other of his clan and he bore himself with dignity. He was not overtly cruel, though he could be if the circumstances called for it. He did have his clan's characteristic aloofness and his experiences as a ninja had toughened him, though it had not entirely eliminated his kindness. It was rarely and with a certain level of secrecy that he directed that kindness at an individual. He was a ninja, after all and more importantly he was an Uchiha, and the Uchiha had not become great by being kind to people.

Yuzuki was one of these fortunate individuals, and for some reason he was duly gentle with her. He told himself – convinced himself – that it wasn't because he found her attractive in any way; just that he felt so sorry for her. And he did. She was just a kid, not even a kunoichi; she didn't deserve this. But as is the way of the world, the innocent must suffer undeservedly, often at the hands of the guilty. There was nothing he could do for her except be a little more caring.

"How did you sleep last night?" he asked as they plodded along to an exit.

"Oh, fine, thank you," lied Yuzuki, then she stopped. Hikaku heard the light footsteps behind cease and turned around questioningly. He saw that she stood with her fists curled by her sides, deep in troubled thought, slippered feet solidly rooted as if they were anchoring her mind. Her brow was furrowed and she was staring hard at the floor. Then she seemed to come to a resolution about something and looked up and, though the troubled look remained, it was alloyed slightly by determination.

"Hikaku-san," she began tentatively, fists tightening and shoulders tensing, "I'm going to ask you a question and – I would like for you to answer me honestly."

A pause ensued as she waited for a reaction.

A small flag arose and the young man peered down at the her with suspicion. Had he been anyone but an Uchiha he might have allowed the interest and suspicion to show in his face.

"Alright," he said cautiously, giving her his full attention. "What is it?"

Yuzuki's eyes again went to the floor, thinking about how she would pose the question, before they flickered back up to Hikaku's face. When she spoke there was a quiet demanding undertone to her voice that was subtle but unmistakable.

"A couple of days ago, when I was in that room with Madara._..san _something – something happened to me."

She stopped to examine the impact of her statement. Not surprisingly, she saw none and continued.

"That is, Madara-san did something _to _me. I don't know what he did; but I remember his eyes turned red...they had a strange pattern to them. I don't remember much after I looked into them. Those eyes... It's like they had some sort of power "

There was another pause. And then, as if some strange fever had taken possession of her, she blurted out urgently, impulsively: "Hikaku-san, I know it isn't exactly my place to ask you this, but what are those eyes of his? I mean, they are not normal. What did they do to me?" She added as if it would prompt him, "I think I've seen them before when he kidnapped me and when we were talking once, and – oh, I don't know when else. Please, Hikaku-san, can't you tell me?"

"Why," said Hikaku, who had been listening with a blank face, "should I tell you anything about Madara-sama?"

At first, Yuzuki appeared thrown by the reply phrased in so cool a tone, but she quickly recovered, straightening her back and raising her chin imperiously. "_Because," _she said with a new bite, "he kidnapped me – obviously. And because I deserve to

understand what's being done to me. Besides, what could a _kid_ like me do to a _shinobi _like him? It's not like – like I'd be able to use anything against him."

Whether or not this reasoning had any affect, was not clearly discerned. Her listener had turned his face from her in the course of her appeal. His arms were folded. Was he considering telling? She had known from the outset that her chances of his confiding in her were barely existent, but she had to know. It was a question that had plagued her on those few sleepless nights since the traumatic incident, during which it took on the urgency of a matter of life or death. She'd concluded, both with sharp instinct simple logic, that those peculiar eyes of Madara's could very well jeopardize her survival; and Hikaku was her only possible source of information.

Yuzuki moved impatiently at his silence. "Hika -" She began to call, and then her mouth dried up.

The bloody gems that had haunted her for the past couple of days were staring straight at her, the same ominous black pattern imprinted in its irises. Yuzuki stilled like a deer in a clearing when it has heard a disturbance in the surrounding wood. It felt like the only part of her that was moving was her jumping heart.

Then, she crouched low, eyes narrowing to watchful amber slits, shoulders tensing and body folding inward protectively, so that she looked less human and more like a furtive animal bracing itself for a frantic struggle. The two dabs of blood red seem to jeer at her and she could not look away.

Hikaku was a bit alarmed by the extreme reaction."Calm down, Yuzuki-san; I'm not going to hurt you," he said in what he fancied was a reassuring voice. He faced her full front and smiled. It wasn't one of those cruel smirks such as she'd seen from Madara, but a kind twist of the mouth, a little sheepish and a little apologetic.

"You don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid." The avowal couldn't help but flow from Yuzuki's lips, though her heart still boomed in fear and her mind scrambled to reset itself. Even then, Yuzuki's bravado had not deserted her, and she hastened to show the truth of the words. She unfolded her body into a more relaxed pose and tried to affect casual interest, but when she spoke her tone was pitched unusually high.

"So -" she squeaked, "so, you've got it too. The, er.. the..."

"It's called the Sharingan, Yuzuki-san. And everyone in our clan has it or has the ability to awaken it."

"Really? Everyone?"

"It's a hereditary trait. It is what we are most famous for."

"Oh? Why is that? Is it -" Yuzuki paused to form her next words carefully, so that she might get as much intelligence out of Hikaku as possible. "Is it really all that powerful?"

"It is." The answer was said bluntly and with a hint of pride that bordered on arrogance. "The Sharingan is capable of performing multiple techniques and tasks; and the greater the user, the more they can do with it. Madara-sama, for example is far more skilled with the Sharingan than I or anyone else in the Uchiha clan can do."

Hikaku went on to enumerate in rather technical language some of the things the Sharingan could do: Seeing chakra, genjutsus, ninjutsus, so many things. Most of it went right over Yuzuki's head, but the proud look shining in the shinobi's eyes deterred her from interrupting. He looked as animated as she had ever seen him and it was nice after so much gloom to see another so genuinely light up without being hindered by caution or sternness. Besides, he was telling her much more than she'd ever hoped.

Hikaku didn't mind telling Yuzuki these things because all of it was general information; he wasn't telling her the secrets of his clan, just facts that any ninja clan who had heard or fought with them knew. Thus, the action was innocuous, even more so because he could tell the girl understood less than half of what he was saying.

"How... fascinating," offered Yuzuki, when he had concluded.

The awkwardness with which she said this made Hikaku suddenly self-conscious of his bragging speech. He cleared his throat, deciding to put an end to the conversation. He was becoming too at ease with this outsider.

"As for what Madara-sama did or might have done to you, Oshima-san, I can say from experience it is not harmful in the least."

"Oh." Yuzuki blinked, noting the reversion to her surname. "Thank you." She'd almost forgotten what she had originally asked.

Hikaku turned from her, the light having gone from his face, and started to walk. It seemed there was no inclination to elaborate any further. She started to follow, then stopped.

"Hikaku-san? One more question."

Hikaku ceased walking, but that was all the acknowledgment she received that he had hear her. He did not turn around.

"Yes?"

A dampness broke out on her palms as she dared to ask a question she didn't quite know she wanted confirmed.

"On the same day, Madara-san told me about the clan who used to live here before – the clan that built this fortress. The Shinoda clan."

Yuzuki waited to see whether Hikaku had picked up on her train of thought, and could perhaps spare her from the asking. But he said nothing.

"He told me that a long time ago, his family had taken this place from the Shinoda. And that the entire Shinoda clan, men, women and children had been" - she swallowed - "tortured and killed."

Still, the man in front of her did not stir.

"Is that...true?" The question came out as a whisper, shrouded in dread and apprehension.

There was a beat and then a cold, "Yes," was uttered before Hikaku resumed his pace forward.

Yuzuki, however was rooted to the spot, feeling distinctly nauseous. Many thoughts were swirling about her head but the one in particular prevailed over the others. 'My god! These are the people that I'm living with: A family of murderers, a family of freaks.' Yuzuki's eyes closed as sickness rolled in her stomach. What to do?

Well, there was one thing she could try, though it probably wouldn't help at all: she could try apologizing to Madara.

* * *

"You depart tonight at sundown."

"Sir."

The two figures, one adorned in a hakama and the other obviously dressed for both battle and travel, let a meaningful silence fall. In stark contrast to the solemn mood, the room was aglow with a wash of gentle light. Outside the sun was elucidating every patch of earth, every tree and every bit of green. A cool, clear day was imminent, an excellent day for travel.

The occupants of the small room – a room used usually for relaxation – did not pay the good weather any heed, wrapped up as they were in the solemnity of the occasion. Between the two, there was a low table and on it was a neglected cup of tea rapidly going cold.

How many times had he gone through this? How many times had a young warrior hankering for vengeance sat before him, back straight, eyes frank, mind and heart fixed on a single goal from which they could not be dissuaded?

It was more or less always a variation of the same theme: someone perishes at the hands of the enemy and their loved ones seek reprisals for their death as a consequence, reprisals that can only be exacted through the grim satisfaction of revenge. Raised as they were, they knew no other recourse. Indeed, it would never had occurred to an Uchiha or really to any shinobi in general not to pursue revenge. It seemed the most natural impulse was to give back what was served.

Funny, how things never seemed to work out that neatly.

In this case it was Uchiha Yusaku's younger brother on whom the axe of fate had fallen. He had been killed last month in the midst of an attempted raid on a reported Senju hideaway by a member of their clan named Hachiro. Yusaku was inconsolable: he wanted his due and he had pleaded, grief barely restrained, for the chance to get even all on his own. It had to be on his own. In his view this amounted to no less than a personal attack launched by the Senju against him, though in reality it was far from personal: there had been a fight with the Senju and his brother had been killed as a result.

Madara didn't know why he was agreeing to Yusaku's request for a solo mission to hunt and kill Senju Hachiro; he could only contribute the bout of uncharacteristic sympathy to the fact that Yusaku's plight was not dissimilar to his own, but even that did not fully account for it. Most of the clan had been against this move for strategic purposes. It was unwise for a single person, even if it was someone as powerful as Yusaku, to single-handedly undertake an assasination for a high-ranking Senju.

But Madara had agreed and he had the final say. Besides, despite the emotional nature of it, Madara had arranged Yusaku's request with the same meticulous care that he paid to all matters, and it was not a mission that was to be performed by rash measures in the least.

Madara snapped his eyes onto Yusaku's. "This needs to be a quick, clean job. Find him, kill him, cover up your tracks, and get out. Understand?" he said sharply.

A dutiful nod was what he received in reply.

"Our intelligence indicates that Senju Hachiro was dispatched to the coastal city of Kujio on the fifteenth, and should be making his return trip today. Our reports tell us that he is alone, but if this turns out not to be the case, I want you to send for help immediately." Madara stood, and as he did so, Yusaku rose too.

"Hachihro alone is a hard enough opponent. We don't want you taking on more than you can handle." Madara smirked wryly. "The words are your mother's, not mine."

Yusaku tried to appear humored but the attempt died before it could really flourish. "She worries too much," he mumbled, more to himself than to Madara.

"Her anxiety does her credit," Madara remarked, crossing the room to where his kinsman was standing. "He will not be an easy kill." They stood examining one another, Madara some centimeters taller and slightly older.

Yusaku had always found his leader's bearing unreadable, though this had never once led to him doubting Madara's judgement. There was a keenness of mind and senses, a soundness of ability in their young leader that commanded Yusaku's respect just as it did of everyone else. Of Madara's talent there was no question of validity, but still, he was not an easy man to know. Yusaku hadn't ever felt what could be called closeness with him. So it had been surprising to Yusaku when he had received permission to hunt and kill Senju Hachiro. He wondered what could have prompted it, for he had been expecting an answer in the negative.

But now, in the preceding hours of his departure on a journey from which he had a good chance of not returning, he felt a strong understanding with Madara, a oneness that only the stark clarity of imminent danger could bring.

He was a shinobi and Madara was a shinobi and this business of death and revenge was shinobi's business.

"That is all. You may go and prepare."

Yusaku bowed obediently and made to leave. As he did so he felt a hand descend firmly onto his shoulder and lock him in place.

"Yusaku."

Yusaku turned back and met Madara's eyes curiously. Such intense eyes, such worldly eyes. Sometimes it was hard to believe their venerable clan leader was only twenty-six.

After a moment, Madara emitted something that sounded almost like a sigh.

"Try to survive this if you can help it."

* * *

The air had cooled significantly but not to the point of chilliness. No breeze disturbed the trees and not a single hint of wildlife made itself known. It was early evening, that magical window of time when the sun cast its deeply yellow glow on everything, brightening the flowers, creating shadows, making one's surroundings all the more lovely. To anyone else, it might have been a stirring sight; but not to Madara. He had long lost appreciation of such beautiful views, if he ever had them to begin with.

Madara stood on the veranda, his arms crossed, completely wrapped in this solitude, listening to the sounds of nothing. His mood, while not sad, was nevertheless grave, and he shifted into contemplation.

He knew the likely outcome of Yusaku's vendetta. He had seen it played out many times. But though he saw the hopelessness of the situation, he also had no way of stopping it. A strong hatred had poisoned Uchiha Yusaku's soul, a poison which had no cure. That was because it was a poison inherent in all humans, that grew as a person's capacity for love grew.

Only from the deepest of loves could spring the deadliest of hates. That these two opposing passions should be so intertwined was the ultimate paradox. This much Madara knew from experience.

A long time ago, he had once heard a clan elder say that the human heart was like a ditch of blood that our departed loved ones drink from. The dearer they are to you, the more of your blood they drink, until you are left with a shriveled up organ incapable of love, and haunting visages of the dead that are more alive than the actual living.

Of a love once had and lost, only hatred remained to you now - and lonliness.

Madara's eyes hardened. He had been only a child when he'd heard that dreadful metaphor - he could understand it better now.

Suddenly, a light breeze gently shook the branches of the surrounding trees, and with it came a scent, fresh and sweet, that distracted him from his dark brooding. Somewhere a maneki neko wind chime clamored softly.

Out onto the veranda, right behind from where it cut a sharp turn, stepped the girl, Yuzuki. She was clad in a dark dress that he recognized as part of a trend among some of the womenfolk of his clan. In this case, the dark-coloring was not particularly flattering on the female it adorned, and the loose, baggy fit made her seem smaller than she already was, reminding him of a child parading in her mother's dresses.

Yuzuki did not notice him at first; she was too preoccupied with the scenery, it being her first taste of the outdoors in several days. Madara glanced at her, not knowing what to make of the sudden intrusion of her presence.

Presently, the girl turned her head, saw him, and drew back. Then a completely different expression overtook the one of surprise on her face, and she started towards him in long, determined strides, eyes staring boldly back at his.

Madara felt he should be insulted by such boldness and was annoyed when he didn't. If anything, he felt curious for it appeared that the girl had something to say to him. She stopped in front of him, shoulders squared, fists balled at her side, and stared up at him silently with the air of one who is preparing to perform a laborious but necessary task.

Yuzuki took a deep breath and declared in a loud, final sort of way: "Madara-san, I would like to apologize to you for my behavior a couple days ago." Yuzuki paused but Madara simply stared at her. "I'm very sorry for my rudeness. There is no excuse for what I did. It was unacceptable. Please forgive me." And here Yuzuki did a a funny little spasm that might have been a bow.

Quiet followed her declaration. Even the breeze had ceased. Yuzuki risked a peek up at Madara, and saw to her amazement that she had actually managed to stun him. His eyebrows were raised so high they almost disappeared into his hairline and his eyes were full of incredulity.

Yuzuki felt a swell of smug joy and had to keep herself from smirking. She had, for the first time, stunned Uchiha Madara to speechlessness. She almost laughed.

But Yuzuki's conceit was pricked when Madara spoke. "Are you?" he inquired. His voice was calm and monotone and completely at odds with what she had expected. Yuzuki glanced up at him again. The stunned look was gone and in its place was the condescension that she was so familiar with tinged this time with malice.

Did the girl honestly believe that he could not see right through this farce?

"_If_ you were really as contrite as you say you are, you would apologize properly." Madara had shifted his body towards her and was now looking down at her coolly. Yuzuki's brow puckered into a frown. "What do you -" she began confusedly, before comprehension dawned.

Madara waited patiently for a response. A peculiar expression came over the young woman; her eye twitched and her hands clenched and unclenched by her sides as if she were fighting back some powerful impulse. It was a rather amusing spectacle to witness. Now that he thought about it, she had very dynamic features.

"Show me a proper apology," said Madara, "and I might consider forgiving you."

Madara was just thinking he had succeeded in ruffling Yuzuki's feathers when the improbable happened. All at once, the girl fell dramatically to her knees, threw herself prostrate, and cried out in a theatrical manner: "Oh, Madara-san! Please forgive lowly me for my hurtful transgressions. My actions were, of course, _completely _and _utterly _unjustified. I am so very sorry for my unacceptable behavior towards you, as you did absolutely _nothing_ to deserve such disrespect."

Despite the acidic sarcasm that had leaked into her words, Yuzuki hoped that Madara would take the apology at face-value. In the past when she had been adjured by her mother to express penitence over an act she did not regret, such as in the case of Ichiume, she had always taken some level of comfort in the thought that she didn't mean any of it. Let people think what they want to think, she was not sorry. What was important was appearances; internally she was allowed to think what she wanted. It was a frustrating rule, unfair and unjust, but she could follow it, if not for her own sake then for her mother's.

But being forced to bow the man who had done everything in the world to deserve what he got nettled her pride in a way it had never been nettled before. Even a fake apology was proving difficult. But pride came second. This was a matter of survival.

When Madara said nothing, Yuzuki, thinking he didn't much appreciate the tone of exaggerated remorse, rushed on appealingly.

"I'm sorry. Truly I am. I'm sorry I called you a - a -" She colored, unable to repeat the offensive language. Madara took up for her.

"A cruel and raving lunatic, a goddamn son of bitch, a callous and despicable jackass who -"

"Yes, yes!" snapped Yuzuki, finally loosing patience and waving her hand. "The details don't matter! The point is that I'm sorry and that my rudeness was inexcusable."

The knowledge that she had made another grave error rang distantly in Yuzuki's mind but the temerity that was a core part of her nature buoyed her. "Are you going to forgive me or not?"

Madara eyed her and for a long while made no answer. There was strange lack of fear about Yuzuki that was surprising, for he had anticipated that she would behave more timidly after what he had subjected her to in their last encounter.

He leaned forward so that his face was close to hers. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, _Yu-chan_?" he jeered coolly, looking down at her.

"Yes, I - That is, I -" Yuzuki faltered, her fire deserting her.

So, she did not like physical closeness.

All of a sudden Yuzuki was being yanked to her feet and her arms were being gripped in a grip that hurt. The startled girl let out a little squeak and stared, trembling, into Madara's stern but half-smirking face, and at last she was thoroughly frightened. She did not feel bold and determined now. This whole while she had been holding back the memory of that dark, high-vaulted room and now as she was in his grasp, it came rushing back to her.

"What makes you think that I want your apology? What makes you think I need it? Well?" he asked with quiet intensity. Poor Yuzuki could not fathom the abrupt shift from his formerly mild mood. All she knew was that she did not like his tone, arrogant and demanding as it was, and that was enough to provoke her irascible temper.

"Oh, forget it!" she exclaimed, the fire returning. She began to squirming, hoping to shake off the grip that held her. "I take it back! I'm not sorry for anything. I meant every single thing I called you. You deserved it and - and so much more!"

Madara's hold on her did not loosen. He was noticing that sweet and aqueous aroma that had traveled on the breeze before was much more pervasive now, and he realized that the girl was the source of it. Intrigued, Madara leaned forward and tugged Yuzuki closer, causing her to struggle still more frantically.

"Even the part about me being a soulless, heartless bastard who likes terrorizing little girls?" he murmured, suddenly focused on discerning the refreshing notes of her fragrance.

"Especially that part! Oh, do let me go!" cried Yuzuki, confused. Was he - was he _teasing _her? His voice sounded warm, like he was chuckling in her ear.

"What's so funny? I am trying to give you an apology and you laugh at me!"

"I'm not laughing at you, " refuted Madara, but his eyes gleamed with malicious humor.

By now Madara had taken hold of her knobby wrists. His eyes slipped from Yuzuki to something behind her and suddenly he released her. Yuzuki had been struggling so hard she was propelled backwards and would have fallen down were it not for the person obstructing the pathway to the ground. Instead she slammed against the hard chest of a male body, and two hands reached to steady her.

"Hikaku. I see our little prisoner managed to give you the slip."

"Forgive me, Madara-sama," said Hikaku, tight-lipped. "I happened to run into Yusaku before his departure."

"Ah." Madara inclined his head. There followed a moment of silence that was bewildering to Yuzuki in its gravity. It was almost like the silence that followed an announcement of a death in the family.

A small budding image streamed in, a narrow beam of light from a crack in the door of faded memory. She saw the smiling face of her late father, salvaged from the scarce back annals of early childhood, where it had been stored for nearly ten years, a memory constantly pushed back as it fought to rise at various moments to the surface.

Yuzuki moved uncomfortably. "Who's Yusaku?" she blurted, unable to stand the grave silence any longer.

Hikaku blinked. His thoughts had been faraway with Yusaku and he had forgotten she was even there. "A relative," he answered. His eyes flickered to Madara's. "Who is going on a mission. Oshima-san, go out into the yard and explore but stay within my sight and don't go rushing off." Hikaku gave Yuzuki an encouraging push and smiled when she looked at him questioningly. "You said you wanted to stretch your legs, didn't you?"

Yuzuki opened her mouth to protest - she was not yet done with this business with Madara - and then shut it with a pop after thinking better of it. "Right," she said and scampered off, relieved and puzzled at Hikaku's kindly dismissal. 'He must want to talk to Madara in private,' she thought. 'But I wonder whatever about.' Yuzuki glanced back curiously at the shinobi. Madara was casually relaxed in his signature cross-armed position; when their eyes met, his lips quirked up into an infuriating half-smirk, and Yuzuki bristeled and turned away.

'Nevermind,' she fumed. 'I don't care.'

When she was a sufficient distance from them, Hikaku turned to his leader and said tensely: "Madara-sama, do you really think it wise to send Yusaku out on a mission that is bound to not end well? Not that I am doubting Yusaku-san's skills but -"

"You're saying that based on the assumption that he'll lose. But what if he were to win?"

"It would be a great victory for the Uchiha. Certainly Senju Hachiro is a troublesome fellow. But sir, what if he loses?"

"Are you saying that the risk of losing is reason enough for not taking action? Really Hikaku, I've never known you to be so cowardly."

Hikaku's mouth pressed into a thin line and he cast his eyes down. "That is not what I meant, sir."

"I know it's not, but it all comes down to the same thing. Is it worth the risk? I have decided that it is."

To this Hikaku said nothing, noting Madara's peremptory phrasing: it wasn't that he _believed _that this was the correct way of doing things, it was that he had _decided_ that it was. There could be no arguing with that. Hikaku followed Madara's gaze to where it had been fixed on the girl whole time, and his brow creased as a new subject took root in his brain that he dared to voice.

"The girl..."

Madara slit him a look and waited for him to continue, which Hikaku obliged cautiously. "What use is there is in keeping her? What are your plans for her? That is to say, what is so...special about her?"

Madara stood pondering with thoughtful eyes and crossed arms, having apparently, on Hikaku's asking, been wondering the same thing himself. His reply was carefully crafted and purposely scant, any hopes Hikaku had of obtaining privileged information regarding the kidnapped girl were immediately dashed.

"That remains to be seen."

There was a lapse following this statement, in which the only noises heard were the distant scrapings of feet on dirt engaged in taijutsu practice and the delicate chiming of the maneki neko moving in the soft currents of wind, swaying gaily; Yuzuki was peering up intently at a cluster of tall verdant trees with her hands on her hips, much like a cat that sits twitching its tail preparing to jump up onto higher a surface.

Madara inhaled deeply as the breeze picked up. That lovely scent tickled his nose and he was finally able to give a name to it.

"Peach blossom."

Hikaku threw him a startled look. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," he replied serenely.

* * *

Something was very wrong with the world and all of Izumo felt it, a wrongness that went piercingly through them like an arrow. It was unthinkable that Izumo, a small town so unimportant that mapmakers rarely even bothered to mark it on their maps, should be the scene of the horrendous disappearance of an innocent girl, one of their own. It was like some hostile force had invaded their sleepy abode and administered a jolt that sent all the citizens temporarily reeling. The entire thing was ominous and forbidding, and the adult population felt for the first time the need to keep their children, particularly the young girls, indoors, for it was almost a certainty that Oshima Yuzuki had been kidnapped, and by a group that none could hope to match.

At first, when Yuzuki's mother Haruka had made rounds about the town the day after the incident with the Uchiha clan, people had brushed her off unconcernedly, too busy with task of cleaning up the rubble that had fallen helter-skelter, ruining the roads and damaging the houses. Their minds occupied with other matters, and besides, didn't Yuzuki have a habit of running off without telling her mother? She would come back eventually from wherever she was.

It wasn't until after the frantic day had ended, that anyone began to pay heed to poor Haruka's worry, and by the next morning a cloud of suspicion had fallen upon Yuzuki's absence. By the afternoon and evening it was clearly evident that something bad had happened. The town's thoughts went collectively to the shinobi who had caused them so much trouble recently, and they concluded in their hearts, without much investigation, that those men had something to do with it.

Haruka had known from the get-go with unerring maternal instinct that it was the shinobi that had kidnapped her daughter and she nearly shouted with fury when Tanaka Daitaro had had the gall to suggest as the alternative theory that maybe Yuzuki had run away. No, her daughter had not run away. She would never do something so disgraceful.

Now all of Izumo was shaken, so shaken in fact that concern lay more with their own personal safety than with the missing child's. These evil tidings, after so many years of relative peace, had administered a jolt of fear.

Haruka sighed and sat down at the table in the kitchen and thought for the thousandth time about what she could do. The house seemed queerly empty without Yuzuki, though it still housed three people in it. Each member of the Oshima family was dealing with the loss of a sister and daughter in their own way. Haruka tried to put on a brave face for the sake of her children, for she knew this was not any easier for them than it was for her.

Shigeru was becoming increasingly short of temper, going around with his brow knit and his head bowed, muttering angrily under his breath. Haruka understood that in part Shigeru blamed himself. From an early age, Shigeru had tried ever so hard to be the man of the house, and as a such he saw it as his responsibility to protect his womenfolk, however inefficient he was at that job.

Kaeko, on the other hand, crept about the house like a stricken animal, jumping at the slightest disturbances, bursting into tears at the least provocation. Last night during dinner Kaeko was grasping at a ginger slice that kept slipping through her chopsticks and grew so agitated that she started to sob in earnest. Haruka had said nothing, but drew her second daughter to her in a comforting embrace. Shigeru had been seething and squeezed his chopsticks so tightly they snapped.

No one had much of an appetite after that.

The ever-present question of why dogged Haruka incessantly these days. She could think of no reason as to what a shinobi clan could possibly want with her daughter. Daily she prayed at the family altar for guidance, for an answer; but so far she remained frustratingly in the dark, and always her thoughts would return to speculation.

What had become of Yuzuki? Was she still alive? Or was she dead? That must be it. After all, what use would she be to ninja, what purpose could she serve if she were kept alive?

Another alternative came to the forefront. Perhaps – Haruka blanched – perhaps the Uchiha clan had kidnapped Yuzuki to be used as a sort of plaything. Unbidden there came to mind the horror stories she had heard of similar happenings to other young girls in other villages, so seemingly impossible before now that she had dismissed them as being merely sensational. But now the idea did not seem so crazy. What if that were the reason? Perhaps some of the men liked what they saw and decided to take it. They were shinobi after all, and so had no scruples.

Haruka hunched as pain slashed at her heart. The thought of her chaste, brave, foolish daughter being ravished brutally by a group of merciless killers was too much to be borne. Better that her daughter was dead than endure such a cruel fate. 'But,' thought Haruka despairingly, 'if she's dead then I will never see her again! At least if that were the reason there might be a possibility that she is still alive.'

"Mother."

"Hmm?" mumbled Haruka, coming back to reality. She turned to Kaeko who was standing with a small smile, the first smile and the first sign of happiness Haruka had seen on her since Yuzuki's disappearance. "What is it?"

Kaeko's smile grew wider. "We have a guest," she said and stepped aside, gesturing to someone out of view to come forward. The dark thoughts Haruka had been entertaining were banished as soon as she saw the handsome face with its blue-violet eyes.

"Akira-kun!"

* * *

**That's all for now, folks. Has anyone notice that I am no longer naming these chapters?**


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